Last night's performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony was an unmitigated train wreck; a catastrophically uninspired, discombobulated performance of Beethoven's masterpiece, which attained a level of flatness previously unknown to me in this work.
Contrary to recent tradition, the Beethoven's Ninth performances this year are taking place just before and just after New Year's, rather than on New Year's Eve itself. There were performances scheduled for December 28th and 29th, and January 2nd and 4th (plus an untuxed concert on January 3rd). The two main performances in January are part of the Masterworks series, while the two in December are billed as "Holiday Special" concerts. This will be relevant later.
Also contrary to expectations, Ludovic Morlot was not the conductor for last night's concert. Instead we were graced with Carlos Kalmar, the music director of the Oregon Symphony. In addition to the absence of Morlot, we noticed that most of the key principal players in the orchestra had taken leave for the evening. These included but were not limited to Efe Baltacigil, Alexander Velinzon, Susan Gulkis Assadi, Ben Hausmann, Christopher Sereque and of course Demarre McGill, who is absent from this entire season.
The first 'half' of the program consisted of Brahms' Variations on a Theme by Haydn. Carlos Kalmar proved to be a mediocre leader from the start, and the orchestra proved to be rather uninspired. But during intermission we didn't yet lose all hope for the Beethoven, because there was the possibility that the missing principals would return for the second half, or that the orchestra was simply bored by the Brahms and that they would give a much more involved performance for the Beethoven.
Nevertheless, due to the quality of the first half, expectations were rather low for the Beethoven symphony. But not nearly low enough.
As intermission came to a close, the choir took their seats behind the orchestra, and then Kalmar came out to lead the symphony. Our metaphorical train was off the rails from the very first beat. The opening notes in the winds and lower strings came in almost as an accident, and the repeated notes in the violas were incredibly slow and uncertain. The opening motive in the violins was clumsy, unmusical and out of sync. It was such a disaster that within seconds of the opening I was bored and couldn't wait for the whole thing to be over.
There was absolutely no unity in the orchestra, either within sections or between sections. There was no inspiration in the playing, and it seemed like there were about five different interpretations of the piece fighting for dominance throughout the orchestra. It wasn't uncommon for the descending motive in the violins to come 'too soon' due to how slow the sextuplets in the lower strings were being played, and then the lower strings would have to catch up quickly. Kalmar incompetently made sweeping gestures and shallow facial expressions throughout this abomination, and utterly failed to bring anything out of the orchestra.
Even as the first movement reached loud, climactic sections, there remained a flatness and an utter absence of drive. There was no coherent pulse, ever. No pulse, no drive; just a progression of sounds, like a dismal funeral of suicidal note heads marching inevitably to the end of the piece.
I can remember at most one or two moments in the first movement where the sound produced by the orchestra became more than the sum of its parts. In those brief, fleeting moments one was reminded of what a great orchestra sounds like under great leadership, bringing music to life, speaking it with a clear voice. But these moments were few and far between, like the occasional glimpse of the stars one might get while in Mordor, in those rare instances when the poisonous fume allows for a small break in its impenetrable shroud.
It's hard to describe how incompetent this performance was, because it's even hard to comprehend that a performance that incompetent was possible. No one element that contributed to the catastrophe would have made it such if everything else was properly set. The absence of principal musicians and the presence of mediocre subs was certainly a big blow, but under a great conductor, while the sound would have still been less refined than the actual Seattle Symphony, it could have nevertheless been an energetic and captivating performance. But we had a combination of a handful of missing key players, a probable lack of rehearsal time, and a conductor whose unusual interpretation sparked an apparent civil war within the orchestra, with some of the veteran players trying to keep alive some sense of semblance of the work, and others trying to comprehend what Kalmar was asking of them.
By the time they arrived at the coda of the first movement, it felt as though nothing had been played and nothing had been expressed throughout the previous fifteen minutes; just a meaningless progression of notes. The coda followed suit, with the chilling and brilliant music being played as if it were a bowl of dried up granola eaten with water on a morning when you're late for work.
If you're familiar with this symphony you can probably already predict the fugal catastrophe that followed in the second movement. Displaying no increased sense of unity or coherence relative to the first movement, the orchestra plundered on like an oblivious child, shredding the second movement to the same degree as they did the first. Even Stephen Bryant, a very respectable second violinist, lost his place at one point during the second movement, revealing clearer than ever that in addition to all the other unfortunate circumstances which coalesced around this performance, the players themselves were likely in a "we know this piece so well, we don't have to think about it" mindset.
And as the musicians among you are well aware, there is nothing more endless, more sinfully boring or sleep-inducing, than a long, slow movement performed devoid of any inspiration, pulse or unity. Thus we were cursed with the third movement of the symphony, which practically lie on the stage below us no different than if we had just been looking at a score of the work sitting by itself on the stage for fifteen minutes.
Before the third movement had begun the soloists came on stage and took their seats on either side of our conductor, to be ready for the fourth movement which would come with no pause after the third.
The opening blast and ensuing frenzy of the fourth movement was again weak and uninspired. This monstrosity did not improve at all throughout the evening. Movement after movement it was as if not a soul on stage cared at all about anything. And when the soloists began singing, they proved to be what you would expect of community singers soloing with a University symphony. They weren't bad, but they weren't of a professional level. They reminded me of what I might see in a small community like that of Orcas Island where I grew up, which is wonderful for that setting, but not what you hope for when you're at the Seattle Symphony.
The choir was the only reasonable part of the performance. Because they are a volunteer chorus and only perform a few concerts a year, they are always very much into the music and giving it their all, and so it was from them that we heard the first energized notes of the evening. They also benefited from the skilled instruction of their regular director Joseph Crnko, who did masterful work with them on the Verdi Requiem last month.
When the calamity finally came to an end following a desperate last few measures which seemed to cry out "wait! We still have a few seconds left to come to life before it's over!" the audience erupted in applause in typical Seattle style, but it was not what it should have been. On a subconscious level they could tell something was wrong and that the performance was a failure. When the choir was asked to stand up the applause noticeably increased.
I have a couple thoughts to share in general about this situation.
First of all, I don't know why Carlos Kalmar was chosen to conduct these concerts, and I don't know where all the principal musicians are. But I do know that the Symphony administration is aware that the vast majority of the audience "won't be able to tell the difference," especially for these first two performances which are the special holiday performances, where a large portion of the audience are people who almost never go to the Symphony. Perhaps they figured that by the time they get to the subscription concerts in January, it'll sound a little bit more passable.
But the reason I put "won't be able to tell the difference" in quotes is because the audience can tell the difference, they just don't know it. They don't know how much more captivated and inspired they would have been had it been a great performance. They go away thinking "that was nice, but classical music is kind of boring, like I thought." So the administration is right that the public won't go away thinking that they've been ripped off, but they also won't go away inspired to return; and hence this kind of cost-cutting thinking shoots themselves in the foot, and shoots classical music in the foot.
Think about it. A dry, dead, uninspired performance, and a hall full of people who think that that's all that classical music can be. That's much more harmful to the reputation of classical music than if the audience had simply gone away saying "that was a ripoff, they didn't perform that very well."
Currently I have one ticket for the last performance, on January 4th, and I'm contemplating whether or not to go, or whether I should exchange it out. I'm kind of curious if it will improve at all by then, but aside from possibly having a slightly improved agreement on tempos throughout the orchestra, I don't see it magically turning into a worthwhile performance between now and then.
Better luck next time!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=14066&src=t&dateid=14066
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Sunday, November 24, 2013
November 23rd & 24th, 2013: Verdi Requiem
Wow. That was incredible. So incredible that it became the first concert that I went to hear a second time. There have been a number of great concerts recently that have made me toy with the idea of returning on Sunday afternoon to hear it again, but this was the first one that actually compelled me to do so.
Giuseppe Verdi's Requiem Mass is one of the great masterworks of the classical repertoire. It has the severity of the religious mass, the scope of a romantic symphony and the drama of an opera. It truly is a magnificent work, and the Seattle Symphony and the Seattle Symphony Chorale, under the leadership of Ludovic Morlot, in presenting this work gave the best performance I have yet heard from them. Special mention must be made of Joseph Crnko of course, who is the director of the Seattle Symphony Chorale, and who worked with them to bring their level of performance close to perfection for these concerts.
Yesterday evening me and my girlfriend sat at the front end of the right side of the tier, where you can practically reach your arm over the railing and touch the heads of the musicians. The sound was crisp and immediate from there. I've realized that the issue of acoustics isn't really relevant in seats like that, because you're right there next to the orchestra, so you don't need any architectural genius to carry the sound to you.
After all of the orchestra was seated, the choir took their seats at the back of the stage. Then the four solo singers came on followed by Morlot. When they had taken their seats and Morlot had settled on the podium, he queued the lower strings to begin the quiet opening of the piece. From there the spectacle unfolded with a sweeping drama and irresistible inevitability that I will never forget. The higher strings in their hushed openings were like a fog over a still lake, and the first halting entrances of the choir were like ghosts. As the piece reached a louder dynamic, it was like a glorious monster was set loose. The power of the choir was breathtaking, and the exuberance, clarity and expression in the orchestral playing was unmatched.
As the opening movement drew to a close my heart was pounding, anticipating the coming Dies Irae. Under Morlot's captivating and inspiring leadership it exploded forth from the stage like a blazing inferno, an unrelenting cataclysm of earth shattering explosions and searing flames. The sound of the strings was as though their bows were on fire.
This truly was the best performance I have yet observed by these ensembles. Perhaps it was the nature of the music, or of the excitement of the musicians to play it, but whatever it was, something extraordinary happened on the Benaroya Hall stage this weekend.
The drama wound on and on with such a perfect coherence and seamless drive forward that it is impossible for me to really describe it here. It is solely an auditory and emotional experience, not a literary one.
The four soloists were soprano Joyce El-Khoury, mezzo-soprano Tamara Mumford, tenor René Barbera and bass Jordan Bisch. The weakest of the four was undoubtedly Jordan Bisch, whose expression and mannerisms seemed to betray an ego exactly as strong as his singing was weak. The local conductor Alan Futterman, who I have had the pleasure of playing under several times, once said "the worse the player, the larger the ego." Bisch reminded me of that. Joyce El-Khoury was a solid soprano, albeit with a bit too much vibrato, and Tamara Mumford, also a very solid singer, nevertheless lacked a richness to her voice that I've come to expect from great altos and mezzo-sopranos. The shining star of the four was tenor René Barbera, who was clearly a world class singer, hot on the heels of the likes of Plácido Domingo, José Carreras, etc.
The Tuba Mirum, immediately following the Dies Irae, employed trumpets positioned at the back sides of the third tier of the auditorium. Given the relative slowness of the speed of sound, this was evidently very difficult to pull off, but it was extremely successful, and aside from the split second delay caused by the sound having to travel from the back of the hall, it was completely in sync and had a chilling and glorious effect.
Several solo singing sections follow the Tuba Mirum, and the singing was mostly very good. These sections are reminiscent of arias from Verdi's famous opera Aïda, composed during the same time period. After not too long the piece bursts into the Rex Tremendae, one of my personal favorite movements of the work. Atypical for 'favorite sections,' this one did not disappoint me in the slightest. It was utterly divine. It's one of the most epic, soaring sections of the entire piece, and orchestra, chorus and soloists moved, sang and played as one, creating an almost overwhelming level of drama. My only quibble was that I wish Morlot had taken more of a ritardando during the lead in to the second massive outburst in the movement, but this is a minor detail.
More solo sections follow, utilizing the text of the mass between the Rex Tremendae and the Confutatis, which is the next section that consists of a buildup and a dramatic output upon its arrival. Jordan Bisch was again not the greatest in his solo in the Confutatis, but he was adequate. His solo leads back into a reprise (the second one actually) of the Dies Irae, which takes a different, darker turn this time and ends up in the Lacrymosa, the saddest part of the Requiem Mass. Tamara Mumford was a little disappointing here. I wished her voice had been smoother acoustically, and moving more as one with the accompanying strings. As more voices joined her, including eventually the chorus, it again took on the shape of a first rate performance, and came to a very effective closing at the end of the 'Dies Irae' portion of the mass.
This would be the place where an intermission would have happened if there was going to be one, but fortunately the performance continued after a short pause for everyone to catch their breath.
The beginning of the Offertorio, in every Requiem that I've heard, always takes on a tone of being in some kind of post-event phase. All this drama has happened, and the great Dies Irae hymn has come to an end with an 'amen', and now we're in this outskirt territory of the mass. Verdi begins it with a rising line played by the cellos, which is answered by a simple trio of wind instruments. After not too long though, rich, gorgeous music returns, and the ensuing solo ensembles are again reminiscent of the greatest moments of Verdi's operas.
The performance maintained its utterly extraordinary level throughout the rest of the piece. Aside from one place where the choir began a fugue and wasn't quite together at the beginning, there were scarcely even any technical quibbles I could point to. Technically and musically it was an immense success.
Upon the conclusion of the final note, Morlot kept his baton held up for at least fifteen seconds, and amazingly, a silence was actually held and prolonged in the hall. In Seattle it is difficult to make that happen. As soon as applause began I immediately stood up, the first time I have ever done that. I was surprised by how long it took for the whole audience to stand up, and there were scarcely any shouts or 'bravi' compared to some other concerts.
I really didn't want it to end, and I knew almost immediately that I would inevitably have to return the next afternoon. The last time this work was performed here was in 2005, and who knows how long it will be until it's performed again. So this afternoon I headed back to Benaroya Hall, and I traded in one of my tickets from a concert on June 14th in exchange for one ticket for this afternoon's performance.
This time I sat in Box C on the opposite side of the hall, a couple boxes from the front. I had a better view of the soloists from there, and a more straight-on view of everything, but otherwise I liked the sound and the view better from the seats that are right up next to the orchestra. There was one bass singer in the choir who I particularly noticed on Saturday evening because he was getting really into the drama and making facial expressions that were reflecting the text he was singing, and I watched for him this afternoon again, but his face was significantly less detailed from where I sat today.
One key observation that I made during the performance today was that Morlot's tempi are reminiscent of early-20th century performances, and they are a refreshing return back from the exaggerated, drawn out, slow tempi that were taken in the latter half of the 20th century. Another aspect of the Lacrymosa that I didn't like on Saturday was the relatively quick tempo, but today I began to appreciate it because it was honest and direct, much the way Toscanini would have conducted it.
A couple interesting events from this afternoon are worth noting. Speight Jenkins, the general director of the Seattle Opera, was at the concert. This concert was actually a tribute to him, so I assume he may have been there on Thursday and Saturday as well, but I'm not sure. In any case, he was sitting in Box E, which I have now figured out is the VIP box. I had for a while been trying to find out which pair of seats were given by Gerard Schwarz to Jack and Rebecca Benaroya back in 1998 when the symphony moved to Benaroya Hall, and I'm almost certain now that they are somewhere in Box E. I know that Rebecca Benaroya often sits there, and it's where Speight Jenkins was sitting this afternoon. Personally I like to be really close to the stage, so I actually wouldn't pick seats there as my first choice.
Shortly after the concert began this afternoon, a cell phone went off in Box D right behind me. I'm sure it was really embarrassing for the poor old lady. She took time to fumble around and try to find it in her purse, then she dropped it, and the clunk of it landing on the box floor was added to the sound of it ringing, and then finally she got it to stop. Later on during a quiet part of the piece, another phone went off somewhere towards the back of the floor. I suspect the reduced dedication to turning cell phones off had something to do with the fact that it was a Sunday afternoon. The orchestra was dressed in suits and ties instead of tails, and the dress code in the audience (myself included) was also downgraded one level. Everything was just a bit more casual. I don't know if this is related, but right after the loud and abrupt ending of the Tuba Mirum, one person in the audience clapped quietly twice, before realizing their error. I'm sure they were embarrassed as well.
Jordan Bisch sounded the same as last night for the most part, except for his solo entrance during the Lacrymosa, where he literally seemed to hover about a quarter tone below pitch for several measures. It was pretty bad. But the fugue that had started out not together in the choir last night was fixed today.
All in all the performance today was the same as yesterday, as excellent in every way. My approach in listening to it today was based in the idea of simply sitting there and seeing what happens. I wasn't expecting it to be great because of the previous night, I just decided to sit there and listen, as though I were listening to a recording. Taking that perspective allowed me to discern with more clarity the true nature of the performance and whether it really was as great as it seemed the night before. I would say that it definitely was. But I do prefer to be right up there where I feel like I'm in it; I think that does intensify the experience.
In any case, these performances of the Verdi Requiem are definitely the highlight of this season so far, and they may remain that way for some time. Now I have a break of performances for a few weeks before Handel's Messiah in late December. See you then!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13675&src=t&dateid=13675
Giuseppe Verdi's Requiem Mass is one of the great masterworks of the classical repertoire. It has the severity of the religious mass, the scope of a romantic symphony and the drama of an opera. It truly is a magnificent work, and the Seattle Symphony and the Seattle Symphony Chorale, under the leadership of Ludovic Morlot, in presenting this work gave the best performance I have yet heard from them. Special mention must be made of Joseph Crnko of course, who is the director of the Seattle Symphony Chorale, and who worked with them to bring their level of performance close to perfection for these concerts.
Yesterday evening me and my girlfriend sat at the front end of the right side of the tier, where you can practically reach your arm over the railing and touch the heads of the musicians. The sound was crisp and immediate from there. I've realized that the issue of acoustics isn't really relevant in seats like that, because you're right there next to the orchestra, so you don't need any architectural genius to carry the sound to you.
After all of the orchestra was seated, the choir took their seats at the back of the stage. Then the four solo singers came on followed by Morlot. When they had taken their seats and Morlot had settled on the podium, he queued the lower strings to begin the quiet opening of the piece. From there the spectacle unfolded with a sweeping drama and irresistible inevitability that I will never forget. The higher strings in their hushed openings were like a fog over a still lake, and the first halting entrances of the choir were like ghosts. As the piece reached a louder dynamic, it was like a glorious monster was set loose. The power of the choir was breathtaking, and the exuberance, clarity and expression in the orchestral playing was unmatched.
As the opening movement drew to a close my heart was pounding, anticipating the coming Dies Irae. Under Morlot's captivating and inspiring leadership it exploded forth from the stage like a blazing inferno, an unrelenting cataclysm of earth shattering explosions and searing flames. The sound of the strings was as though their bows were on fire.
This truly was the best performance I have yet observed by these ensembles. Perhaps it was the nature of the music, or of the excitement of the musicians to play it, but whatever it was, something extraordinary happened on the Benaroya Hall stage this weekend.
The drama wound on and on with such a perfect coherence and seamless drive forward that it is impossible for me to really describe it here. It is solely an auditory and emotional experience, not a literary one.
The four soloists were soprano Joyce El-Khoury, mezzo-soprano Tamara Mumford, tenor René Barbera and bass Jordan Bisch. The weakest of the four was undoubtedly Jordan Bisch, whose expression and mannerisms seemed to betray an ego exactly as strong as his singing was weak. The local conductor Alan Futterman, who I have had the pleasure of playing under several times, once said "the worse the player, the larger the ego." Bisch reminded me of that. Joyce El-Khoury was a solid soprano, albeit with a bit too much vibrato, and Tamara Mumford, also a very solid singer, nevertheless lacked a richness to her voice that I've come to expect from great altos and mezzo-sopranos. The shining star of the four was tenor René Barbera, who was clearly a world class singer, hot on the heels of the likes of Plácido Domingo, José Carreras, etc.
The Tuba Mirum, immediately following the Dies Irae, employed trumpets positioned at the back sides of the third tier of the auditorium. Given the relative slowness of the speed of sound, this was evidently very difficult to pull off, but it was extremely successful, and aside from the split second delay caused by the sound having to travel from the back of the hall, it was completely in sync and had a chilling and glorious effect.
Several solo singing sections follow the Tuba Mirum, and the singing was mostly very good. These sections are reminiscent of arias from Verdi's famous opera Aïda, composed during the same time period. After not too long the piece bursts into the Rex Tremendae, one of my personal favorite movements of the work. Atypical for 'favorite sections,' this one did not disappoint me in the slightest. It was utterly divine. It's one of the most epic, soaring sections of the entire piece, and orchestra, chorus and soloists moved, sang and played as one, creating an almost overwhelming level of drama. My only quibble was that I wish Morlot had taken more of a ritardando during the lead in to the second massive outburst in the movement, but this is a minor detail.
More solo sections follow, utilizing the text of the mass between the Rex Tremendae and the Confutatis, which is the next section that consists of a buildup and a dramatic output upon its arrival. Jordan Bisch was again not the greatest in his solo in the Confutatis, but he was adequate. His solo leads back into a reprise (the second one actually) of the Dies Irae, which takes a different, darker turn this time and ends up in the Lacrymosa, the saddest part of the Requiem Mass. Tamara Mumford was a little disappointing here. I wished her voice had been smoother acoustically, and moving more as one with the accompanying strings. As more voices joined her, including eventually the chorus, it again took on the shape of a first rate performance, and came to a very effective closing at the end of the 'Dies Irae' portion of the mass.
This would be the place where an intermission would have happened if there was going to be one, but fortunately the performance continued after a short pause for everyone to catch their breath.
The beginning of the Offertorio, in every Requiem that I've heard, always takes on a tone of being in some kind of post-event phase. All this drama has happened, and the great Dies Irae hymn has come to an end with an 'amen', and now we're in this outskirt territory of the mass. Verdi begins it with a rising line played by the cellos, which is answered by a simple trio of wind instruments. After not too long though, rich, gorgeous music returns, and the ensuing solo ensembles are again reminiscent of the greatest moments of Verdi's operas.
The performance maintained its utterly extraordinary level throughout the rest of the piece. Aside from one place where the choir began a fugue and wasn't quite together at the beginning, there were scarcely even any technical quibbles I could point to. Technically and musically it was an immense success.
Upon the conclusion of the final note, Morlot kept his baton held up for at least fifteen seconds, and amazingly, a silence was actually held and prolonged in the hall. In Seattle it is difficult to make that happen. As soon as applause began I immediately stood up, the first time I have ever done that. I was surprised by how long it took for the whole audience to stand up, and there were scarcely any shouts or 'bravi' compared to some other concerts.
I really didn't want it to end, and I knew almost immediately that I would inevitably have to return the next afternoon. The last time this work was performed here was in 2005, and who knows how long it will be until it's performed again. So this afternoon I headed back to Benaroya Hall, and I traded in one of my tickets from a concert on June 14th in exchange for one ticket for this afternoon's performance.
This time I sat in Box C on the opposite side of the hall, a couple boxes from the front. I had a better view of the soloists from there, and a more straight-on view of everything, but otherwise I liked the sound and the view better from the seats that are right up next to the orchestra. There was one bass singer in the choir who I particularly noticed on Saturday evening because he was getting really into the drama and making facial expressions that were reflecting the text he was singing, and I watched for him this afternoon again, but his face was significantly less detailed from where I sat today.
One key observation that I made during the performance today was that Morlot's tempi are reminiscent of early-20th century performances, and they are a refreshing return back from the exaggerated, drawn out, slow tempi that were taken in the latter half of the 20th century. Another aspect of the Lacrymosa that I didn't like on Saturday was the relatively quick tempo, but today I began to appreciate it because it was honest and direct, much the way Toscanini would have conducted it.
A couple interesting events from this afternoon are worth noting. Speight Jenkins, the general director of the Seattle Opera, was at the concert. This concert was actually a tribute to him, so I assume he may have been there on Thursday and Saturday as well, but I'm not sure. In any case, he was sitting in Box E, which I have now figured out is the VIP box. I had for a while been trying to find out which pair of seats were given by Gerard Schwarz to Jack and Rebecca Benaroya back in 1998 when the symphony moved to Benaroya Hall, and I'm almost certain now that they are somewhere in Box E. I know that Rebecca Benaroya often sits there, and it's where Speight Jenkins was sitting this afternoon. Personally I like to be really close to the stage, so I actually wouldn't pick seats there as my first choice.
Shortly after the concert began this afternoon, a cell phone went off in Box D right behind me. I'm sure it was really embarrassing for the poor old lady. She took time to fumble around and try to find it in her purse, then she dropped it, and the clunk of it landing on the box floor was added to the sound of it ringing, and then finally she got it to stop. Later on during a quiet part of the piece, another phone went off somewhere towards the back of the floor. I suspect the reduced dedication to turning cell phones off had something to do with the fact that it was a Sunday afternoon. The orchestra was dressed in suits and ties instead of tails, and the dress code in the audience (myself included) was also downgraded one level. Everything was just a bit more casual. I don't know if this is related, but right after the loud and abrupt ending of the Tuba Mirum, one person in the audience clapped quietly twice, before realizing their error. I'm sure they were embarrassed as well.
Jordan Bisch sounded the same as last night for the most part, except for his solo entrance during the Lacrymosa, where he literally seemed to hover about a quarter tone below pitch for several measures. It was pretty bad. But the fugue that had started out not together in the choir last night was fixed today.
All in all the performance today was the same as yesterday, as excellent in every way. My approach in listening to it today was based in the idea of simply sitting there and seeing what happens. I wasn't expecting it to be great because of the previous night, I just decided to sit there and listen, as though I were listening to a recording. Taking that perspective allowed me to discern with more clarity the true nature of the performance and whether it really was as great as it seemed the night before. I would say that it definitely was. But I do prefer to be right up there where I feel like I'm in it; I think that does intensify the experience.
In any case, these performances of the Verdi Requiem are definitely the highlight of this season so far, and they may remain that way for some time. Now I have a break of performances for a few weeks before Handel's Messiah in late December. See you then!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13675&src=t&dateid=13675
Monday, November 18, 2013
November 17th, 2013: Seattle Youth Symphony Orchestra
I was a member of SYSO in the 2009/2010 season, and ever since I would 'almost' make it to most of their concerts, but for some reason most of the time I'd never actually go. I finally subscribed this year, so I'll be going to all of them. The first one was yesterday afternoon at Benaroya Hall. They perform on the same stage the Seattle Symphony does.
The program consisted of scenes from Romeo and Juliet by Berlioz, 'Schelomo: Hebraic Rhapsody' by Bloch, and the second half was Brahms' Symphony No. 2. Hana Cohon was the concerto competition winner who performed solo cello for the Schelomo, and Stephen Radcliffe was the conductor for the afternoon. He was the music director of SYSO back in 2009 as well, and I really liked working under him. I joined the orchestra solely because of Tchaikovsky's 4th Symphony being on the first concert, but I also enjoyed the other two concerts which included Schubert's 9th Symphony and Mahler's 2nd.
Before the concert began I met the father of the principal oboist, who was sitting with his wife right behind me in Box B. They seemed like a really nice couple, and the guy chatted with me for a bit, curious about whether I had a kid in the orchestra, because I didn't quite look old enough. I explained that I used to be in the orchestra, and that they're the second best orchestra in town and I like going to good concerts.
After some guy whose position I'm not sure of came on stage to introduce the concert and talk about a few things, Radcliffe took to the podium to conduct the Berlioz. It begins with a quiet melody played just by the violins, and they didn't all move completely in unison. It was interesting that they'd start a program with such a difficult and exposed passage. They sounded good, it was just one of those things that even a professional orchestra doesn't always nail perfectly. As the piece progressed however, the orchestra really showed their mettle, and they certainly face no competition for the title of second best orchestra in the city. There were even parts where it would have been hard to tell them apart from the Seattle Symphony.
The most striking thing about SYSO, in comparison to the SSO, is the level of energy exhibited by every single player. Nobody in this orchestra comes on stage for a concert in a "just another day at work" attitude. Of course they don't, they've been rehearsing for this concert for months, and this is one of just three concerts they get to give in a whole year. In addition, I'm sure a handful of the players had never performed on the Benaroya Hall stage before. There's a great dilemma that faces the professional orchestras, in terms of how to keep up the energy, intensity and passion when they're performing all the time and when it's their job. This dilemma is brought to light when one observes an orchestra like SYSO. The players are genuinely excited. Many of them play as though they're playing for their lives. Of course, tragically, the younger the player, the more excitement was evident in their face and their movements. Even within the narrow age range of this orchestra, it was clear that as we get older, that spark of life in all of us begins to fade as all the nonsense of life buries us in stress, drama, thoughts about college, etc. Those people who refuse to give up their childlike passion for life as they age are called anything from eccentric to immature to downright crazy.
After the Berlioz was over, the first violins were moved back and the platform for the cello soloist was brought out. I'm sort of an acquaintance of Hana because she played chamber music with my brother back in 2008 or 2009, but I had never heard her play solo before.
I really wish I had been more familiar with the work. Even though it was tonal there was something really dense about it that made it difficult to follow. Hana played quite well, that much was evident. And the orchestra was stellar, particularly in the orchestral tutti sections, where they would burst out in Bloch's passionate melodies with the highest level of energy.
When the Bloch was over intermission began, and I immediately went to the lobby to try to find some friends that I had spotted in the audience before the concert began. I found them and visited with them for most of intermission. Then I returned to my seat for the Brahms symphony.
I don't have too much to say about the Brahms because it is also an extremely dense work which I unfortunately didn't get around to knowing very well before going to this concert. The SSO is playing it in June, so I'll definitely be much more familiar with it by then. The orchestra played very well as usual, and while I could certainly pass a blind test trying to discern SYSO from SSO, the difference is not nearly as great as you'd expect. These young musicians are quite talented, and they clearly practice a lot. I'm looking forward to the other two concerts this year.
The program consisted of scenes from Romeo and Juliet by Berlioz, 'Schelomo: Hebraic Rhapsody' by Bloch, and the second half was Brahms' Symphony No. 2. Hana Cohon was the concerto competition winner who performed solo cello for the Schelomo, and Stephen Radcliffe was the conductor for the afternoon. He was the music director of SYSO back in 2009 as well, and I really liked working under him. I joined the orchestra solely because of Tchaikovsky's 4th Symphony being on the first concert, but I also enjoyed the other two concerts which included Schubert's 9th Symphony and Mahler's 2nd.
Before the concert began I met the father of the principal oboist, who was sitting with his wife right behind me in Box B. They seemed like a really nice couple, and the guy chatted with me for a bit, curious about whether I had a kid in the orchestra, because I didn't quite look old enough. I explained that I used to be in the orchestra, and that they're the second best orchestra in town and I like going to good concerts.
After some guy whose position I'm not sure of came on stage to introduce the concert and talk about a few things, Radcliffe took to the podium to conduct the Berlioz. It begins with a quiet melody played just by the violins, and they didn't all move completely in unison. It was interesting that they'd start a program with such a difficult and exposed passage. They sounded good, it was just one of those things that even a professional orchestra doesn't always nail perfectly. As the piece progressed however, the orchestra really showed their mettle, and they certainly face no competition for the title of second best orchestra in the city. There were even parts where it would have been hard to tell them apart from the Seattle Symphony.
The most striking thing about SYSO, in comparison to the SSO, is the level of energy exhibited by every single player. Nobody in this orchestra comes on stage for a concert in a "just another day at work" attitude. Of course they don't, they've been rehearsing for this concert for months, and this is one of just three concerts they get to give in a whole year. In addition, I'm sure a handful of the players had never performed on the Benaroya Hall stage before. There's a great dilemma that faces the professional orchestras, in terms of how to keep up the energy, intensity and passion when they're performing all the time and when it's their job. This dilemma is brought to light when one observes an orchestra like SYSO. The players are genuinely excited. Many of them play as though they're playing for their lives. Of course, tragically, the younger the player, the more excitement was evident in their face and their movements. Even within the narrow age range of this orchestra, it was clear that as we get older, that spark of life in all of us begins to fade as all the nonsense of life buries us in stress, drama, thoughts about college, etc. Those people who refuse to give up their childlike passion for life as they age are called anything from eccentric to immature to downright crazy.
After the Berlioz was over, the first violins were moved back and the platform for the cello soloist was brought out. I'm sort of an acquaintance of Hana because she played chamber music with my brother back in 2008 or 2009, but I had never heard her play solo before.
I really wish I had been more familiar with the work. Even though it was tonal there was something really dense about it that made it difficult to follow. Hana played quite well, that much was evident. And the orchestra was stellar, particularly in the orchestral tutti sections, where they would burst out in Bloch's passionate melodies with the highest level of energy.
When the Bloch was over intermission began, and I immediately went to the lobby to try to find some friends that I had spotted in the audience before the concert began. I found them and visited with them for most of intermission. Then I returned to my seat for the Brahms symphony.
I don't have too much to say about the Brahms because it is also an extremely dense work which I unfortunately didn't get around to knowing very well before going to this concert. The SSO is playing it in June, so I'll definitely be much more familiar with it by then. The orchestra played very well as usual, and while I could certainly pass a blind test trying to discern SYSO from SSO, the difference is not nearly as great as you'd expect. These young musicians are quite talented, and they clearly practice a lot. I'm looking forward to the other two concerts this year.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
November 16th, 2013: Morlot Conducts Beethoven's "Pastoral" Symphony
I'm coming to that point where I can't just keep saying the same things over and over again without feeling obnoxious or repetitive. "The strings had a great tone," "conducted with enthusiasm," etc etc. The problem is that there is no way to avoid being repetitive when you write dozens of concert reviews. I suppose that I shouldn't be thinking of each of these posts as a chapter in a longer story, but rather as a completely stand alone thing; because admittedly, many of the same expressions, adjectives and evaluations are going to be used for multiple concerts, and there's no way to avoid that. So in case you actually have been reading through my entire blog like chapters in a book, just a warning that I'm not going to worry about being repetitive anymore. Each of these is an independent post.
Last night's concert was quite excellent. The orchestra was in top form, and the range of repertoire throughout the program was quite compelling. It opened with Sibelius' Tapiola, which was the last major work he wrote. That was followed by the U.S. Premiere of Pascal Dusapin's Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, "Aufgang" ("Stairway"). After intermission, the second half consisted of Beethoven's Symphony No. 6 in F major, "Pastoral."
When I was at the rehearsal for this concert on Thursday morning, I felt that the acoustics on the floor weren't as bad as I remember them being (the open rehearsals are usually floor-only seating), but not long after the concert began yesterday, I realized again how stark the difference is between the floor and the tiers. It's amazing that they sell so many seats at such high prices down there when the sound just doesn't reach your ear properly.
Tapiola was Sibelius' last major work, after which he wrote practically nothing for the last thirty years of his life. Apparently he didn't know what to do with the direction that music had gone, a sentiment which I greatly appreciate. Tapiola is as close to atonal as anything Sibelius wrote, and while there are moments that are thrilling (particularly the climax near the end), there are also extensive sections that are completely incomprehensible to me even though I've heard them a few times now. The orchestra played very well, with great subtlety and expressivity. It didn't get very enthusiastic applause though. I don't believe Morlot was called to stage a second time.
The Dusapin concerto followed after a quick resetting of the stage. Renowned violinist Renaud Capuçon came out followed by Morlot, and they began the piece. I again immediately noticed the difference in the acoustics between last night and what I heard from the orchestra level on Thursday morning. Capuçon's tone was like liquid gold, shimmering brilliantly. He is really an incredible musician, and he made this rather challenging work much more comprehensible than it might have been with a different performer.
Nevertheless, for much of the first movement I wasn't gripped. Everyone involved clearly had a solid grip on the piece, but the music itself failed to move me for the most part. It wasn't until the second movement that I began to really feel that there's something worth getting to know in this new work. The second movement had these long sections involving the flute interacting with the solo violin, and they were simply haunting and beautiful. The lush and erie textures and harmonies of this movement were enchanting, and the flutist (who was neither Demarre McGill nor the woman who is his replacement for the year) did quite well with her very essential part.
The second movement came to an end unfortunately, and in the third movement we were back in territory more similar to the incomprehensible first movement. After several minutes of that movement had passed, I was gazing absent-mindedly somewhere towards the back of the first violin section when all of a sudden Capuçon handed his violin to concertmistress Emma McGrath and took her violin in a lightning-quick exchange. I was so bummed to not have been watching Capuçon at the moment that his string broke, and the exchange was so quick that I missed about the first half of it by the time I even registered what was going on. It was quite impressive. The funny thing was that initially I didn't think a string had broke. I didn't know what had happened, but I didn't see any string dangling loose, so I was speculating over what it might be. Later during intermission I went to the ushers who guard the backstage door and asked them if they knew what happened. One of them had gone backstage to find out already, and he said a string broke. But I still wish I knew more, because there was no string dangling loose when he handed his violin to McGrath. There must be something else to it. In any case, it was great to see something like that live.
That happened less than a minute from the end of the concerto, and Capuçon did incredibly with McGrath's violin. It was astounding. There were no issues with tone or intonation in the blazingly fast virtuosic passages that brought the concerto to a close. I could scarcely even hear a difference in the quality of the sound. I don't know whether he missed any part of the piece while making the exchange, because I don't know the piece nearly well enough to tell that, but that's another interesting question to be asked about the incident.
Intermission began when the concerto ended, and I wandered around for a while before going backstage to ask about Capuçon's violin. Not long after that intermission ended, so I headed back to my seat. Morlot then came on stage to lead the Beethoven symphony, which used a slightly smaller orchestra than the works in the first half of the program.
It was really a good performance. Compared to Mahler or Sibeilus, Beethoven is really difficult to pull off well. From the beginning the strings had a distinct and clear voice in the way they phrased the music, and it really spoke. The joyful music cascaded out from the stage, and the flurries in the winds, led primarily by Ben Hausmann on the oboe, were just pure delight. The music really took off, it was very enjoyable to observe and to listen to.
The same excellent level of playing continued into the second movement and the third movements. I'll admit that this isn't my favorite Beethoven symphony. I listened to it quite a bit before this concert, and it never really stuck with me or became a favorite. I'm not sure why. But the Seattle Symphony made a very strong case for it last night, that's for sure.
The only part of the piece that I really love is the storm section. The whole symphony is set in nature, with movement subtitles specifying what kind of scene is being described. The fourth movement (of five) is the storm, and the music is just epic. I mentioned in my post about the open rehearsal that it didn't seem stormy enough, but this again was partly remedied by the better acoustics that I experienced last night. But it was still lacking a little bit for me. Everybody was playing with a great amount of vigor, but I just felt like there has to be some way to make it bigger. I was thinking about it later while on the bus home, and I think that it's possible that some of the recordings I'm used to use an oversized orchestra, which was very common in the latter half of the 20th century. Now they always perform works with the period-appropriate orchestra sizes, which may not have the same impact on our ears as they did at the time the work was written. Also, Morlot did take the same slightly slow tempo for the storm, as in the rehearsal, and so between the modest orchestra size and the difficult tempo, that could explain the relative lack of power. To be clear, it was extremely powerful, and the orchestra did very well considering their modest size and the slower tempo; I just wished it could have somehow been more cataclysmic.
Following the storm came the last movement of the symphony, which again is just not one of my favorite pieces of music. They played it well, and then the concert was over. They got only a partial standing ovation for the Beethoven, probably because it didn't have a loud bang at the end.
Next up is the Seattle Youth Symphony concert, which I will be heading out to in about an hour!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13651&src=t&dateid=13651
Last night's concert was quite excellent. The orchestra was in top form, and the range of repertoire throughout the program was quite compelling. It opened with Sibelius' Tapiola, which was the last major work he wrote. That was followed by the U.S. Premiere of Pascal Dusapin's Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, "Aufgang" ("Stairway"). After intermission, the second half consisted of Beethoven's Symphony No. 6 in F major, "Pastoral."
When I was at the rehearsal for this concert on Thursday morning, I felt that the acoustics on the floor weren't as bad as I remember them being (the open rehearsals are usually floor-only seating), but not long after the concert began yesterday, I realized again how stark the difference is between the floor and the tiers. It's amazing that they sell so many seats at such high prices down there when the sound just doesn't reach your ear properly.
Tapiola was Sibelius' last major work, after which he wrote practically nothing for the last thirty years of his life. Apparently he didn't know what to do with the direction that music had gone, a sentiment which I greatly appreciate. Tapiola is as close to atonal as anything Sibelius wrote, and while there are moments that are thrilling (particularly the climax near the end), there are also extensive sections that are completely incomprehensible to me even though I've heard them a few times now. The orchestra played very well, with great subtlety and expressivity. It didn't get very enthusiastic applause though. I don't believe Morlot was called to stage a second time.
The Dusapin concerto followed after a quick resetting of the stage. Renowned violinist Renaud Capuçon came out followed by Morlot, and they began the piece. I again immediately noticed the difference in the acoustics between last night and what I heard from the orchestra level on Thursday morning. Capuçon's tone was like liquid gold, shimmering brilliantly. He is really an incredible musician, and he made this rather challenging work much more comprehensible than it might have been with a different performer.
Nevertheless, for much of the first movement I wasn't gripped. Everyone involved clearly had a solid grip on the piece, but the music itself failed to move me for the most part. It wasn't until the second movement that I began to really feel that there's something worth getting to know in this new work. The second movement had these long sections involving the flute interacting with the solo violin, and they were simply haunting and beautiful. The lush and erie textures and harmonies of this movement were enchanting, and the flutist (who was neither Demarre McGill nor the woman who is his replacement for the year) did quite well with her very essential part.
The second movement came to an end unfortunately, and in the third movement we were back in territory more similar to the incomprehensible first movement. After several minutes of that movement had passed, I was gazing absent-mindedly somewhere towards the back of the first violin section when all of a sudden Capuçon handed his violin to concertmistress Emma McGrath and took her violin in a lightning-quick exchange. I was so bummed to not have been watching Capuçon at the moment that his string broke, and the exchange was so quick that I missed about the first half of it by the time I even registered what was going on. It was quite impressive. The funny thing was that initially I didn't think a string had broke. I didn't know what had happened, but I didn't see any string dangling loose, so I was speculating over what it might be. Later during intermission I went to the ushers who guard the backstage door and asked them if they knew what happened. One of them had gone backstage to find out already, and he said a string broke. But I still wish I knew more, because there was no string dangling loose when he handed his violin to McGrath. There must be something else to it. In any case, it was great to see something like that live.
That happened less than a minute from the end of the concerto, and Capuçon did incredibly with McGrath's violin. It was astounding. There were no issues with tone or intonation in the blazingly fast virtuosic passages that brought the concerto to a close. I could scarcely even hear a difference in the quality of the sound. I don't know whether he missed any part of the piece while making the exchange, because I don't know the piece nearly well enough to tell that, but that's another interesting question to be asked about the incident.
Intermission began when the concerto ended, and I wandered around for a while before going backstage to ask about Capuçon's violin. Not long after that intermission ended, so I headed back to my seat. Morlot then came on stage to lead the Beethoven symphony, which used a slightly smaller orchestra than the works in the first half of the program.
It was really a good performance. Compared to Mahler or Sibeilus, Beethoven is really difficult to pull off well. From the beginning the strings had a distinct and clear voice in the way they phrased the music, and it really spoke. The joyful music cascaded out from the stage, and the flurries in the winds, led primarily by Ben Hausmann on the oboe, were just pure delight. The music really took off, it was very enjoyable to observe and to listen to.
The same excellent level of playing continued into the second movement and the third movements. I'll admit that this isn't my favorite Beethoven symphony. I listened to it quite a bit before this concert, and it never really stuck with me or became a favorite. I'm not sure why. But the Seattle Symphony made a very strong case for it last night, that's for sure.
The only part of the piece that I really love is the storm section. The whole symphony is set in nature, with movement subtitles specifying what kind of scene is being described. The fourth movement (of five) is the storm, and the music is just epic. I mentioned in my post about the open rehearsal that it didn't seem stormy enough, but this again was partly remedied by the better acoustics that I experienced last night. But it was still lacking a little bit for me. Everybody was playing with a great amount of vigor, but I just felt like there has to be some way to make it bigger. I was thinking about it later while on the bus home, and I think that it's possible that some of the recordings I'm used to use an oversized orchestra, which was very common in the latter half of the 20th century. Now they always perform works with the period-appropriate orchestra sizes, which may not have the same impact on our ears as they did at the time the work was written. Also, Morlot did take the same slightly slow tempo for the storm, as in the rehearsal, and so between the modest orchestra size and the difficult tempo, that could explain the relative lack of power. To be clear, it was extremely powerful, and the orchestra did very well considering their modest size and the slower tempo; I just wished it could have somehow been more cataclysmic.
Following the storm came the last movement of the symphony, which again is just not one of my favorite pieces of music. They played it well, and then the concert was over. They got only a partial standing ovation for the Beethoven, probably because it didn't have a loud bang at the end.
Next up is the Seattle Youth Symphony concert, which I will be heading out to in about an hour!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13651&src=t&dateid=13651
Thursday, November 14, 2013
November 14th, 2013: Seattle Symphony Open Rehearsal
This morning at 10am I attended an open rehearsal of the Seattle Symphony. They were rehearsing the Masterworks program for tonight and Saturday, consisting of Sibelius' Tapiola, Pascal Dusapin's Concerto for Violin and Orchestra (it's the U.S. Premiere), and Beethoven's 6th Symphony, the "Pastoral." I'll be talking about the works in detail when I write about the concert on Saturday, so now I'll only be writing about things relevant to the rehearsal.
They rehearsed the entire program in order. They played through Tapiola with hardly a pause, and then Morlot worked with them on a few sections before calling it a wrap and heading onto the Dusapin.
Renaud Capuçon is the soloist for the Dusapin, and he came on stage to rehearse it with the orchestra. They played through the whole concerto without any breaks at all as far as I can remember. It was quite an engaging piece of music, I'm really looking forward to Saturday's concert so I can have a second hearing of it.
After that there was an intermission of sorts, in which I headed out to the lobby to find someone I could talk to about security at the event, since my stalker had gotten in and sat right next to me. I found a very nice gentleman with a Seattle Symphony nametag on, and inquired about why they weren't verifying peoples names on the guest list as they were coming in. I then told him my story, which consisted of me posting about this rehearsal on Facebook yesterday to see if anyone was interested in going, and receiving about five different comments and private messages from this rather lonely, slightly creepy middle-aged man, who gave me his number in every single message and asked where we should meet. I was Facebook friends with him because he met me in the Canlis lounge while I was playing, and added me. I ignored all his messages and deleted my own posts about the rehearsal.
And then while I was sitting in seat P-16 on the floor, waiting for the rehearsal to begin, he shows up. That's right. Having heard nothing back from me in response to five different comments and messages, he shows up like "hey man! I tried messaging you but it didn't seem to work," and sits down right next to me. Who does that? I did my best to stonewall him, to not look at him, and to reply very curtly to his questions about my life.
So I'm telling this story to the Symphony representative (I think his name was Stephen), and he found it quite amusing and commented on the joys of social media. He said it's a great story, and it was fun chatting with him about it.
As the intermission came to an end, I found a great seat in row M or N on the right side of the auditorium, fairly far from my stalker. From there I observed the rehearsal of the Beethoven symphony.
Morlot was much more stern with the orchestra over the Beethoven, compared to the Dusapin and Sibelius. He often stopped and demanded more of them, coaching them in details about phrasing. During the second movement he forced them to listen to each other by not conducting throughout the entire thing. The audience applauded afterwards. Then they played through the rest of the piece. The storm section is my favorite of course, and I thought he took it too slowly to really have the impact it's supposed to have. It just wasn't explosive, it wasn't thunderous. It was okay, that's all. If they could sustain the intensity in the tempo that he took, perhaps it would have had a cataclysmic effect, but that would be extremely difficult to do.
Anyways, so that's it. I'll be reporting on the happenings at Saturday's concert! Hope you enjoyed the stalker story!
They rehearsed the entire program in order. They played through Tapiola with hardly a pause, and then Morlot worked with them on a few sections before calling it a wrap and heading onto the Dusapin.
Renaud Capuçon is the soloist for the Dusapin, and he came on stage to rehearse it with the orchestra. They played through the whole concerto without any breaks at all as far as I can remember. It was quite an engaging piece of music, I'm really looking forward to Saturday's concert so I can have a second hearing of it.
After that there was an intermission of sorts, in which I headed out to the lobby to find someone I could talk to about security at the event, since my stalker had gotten in and sat right next to me. I found a very nice gentleman with a Seattle Symphony nametag on, and inquired about why they weren't verifying peoples names on the guest list as they were coming in. I then told him my story, which consisted of me posting about this rehearsal on Facebook yesterday to see if anyone was interested in going, and receiving about five different comments and private messages from this rather lonely, slightly creepy middle-aged man, who gave me his number in every single message and asked where we should meet. I was Facebook friends with him because he met me in the Canlis lounge while I was playing, and added me. I ignored all his messages and deleted my own posts about the rehearsal.
And then while I was sitting in seat P-16 on the floor, waiting for the rehearsal to begin, he shows up. That's right. Having heard nothing back from me in response to five different comments and messages, he shows up like "hey man! I tried messaging you but it didn't seem to work," and sits down right next to me. Who does that? I did my best to stonewall him, to not look at him, and to reply very curtly to his questions about my life.
So I'm telling this story to the Symphony representative (I think his name was Stephen), and he found it quite amusing and commented on the joys of social media. He said it's a great story, and it was fun chatting with him about it.
As the intermission came to an end, I found a great seat in row M or N on the right side of the auditorium, fairly far from my stalker. From there I observed the rehearsal of the Beethoven symphony.
Morlot was much more stern with the orchestra over the Beethoven, compared to the Dusapin and Sibelius. He often stopped and demanded more of them, coaching them in details about phrasing. During the second movement he forced them to listen to each other by not conducting throughout the entire thing. The audience applauded afterwards. Then they played through the rest of the piece. The storm section is my favorite of course, and I thought he took it too slowly to really have the impact it's supposed to have. It just wasn't explosive, it wasn't thunderous. It was okay, that's all. If they could sustain the intensity in the tempo that he took, perhaps it would have had a cataclysmic effect, but that would be extremely difficult to do.
Anyways, so that's it. I'll be reporting on the happenings at Saturday's concert! Hope you enjoyed the stalker story!
Sunday, November 10, 2013
November 9th, 2013: Mahler's Sixth Symphony
Last night was the fifth Masterworks concert of the season, and was one of the eleven conducted by Ludovic Morlot. Mahler's massive sixth symphony was paired with four of Pierre Boulez' notations for large orchestra, which comprised the first 'half' of the program.
Predictably, Morlot picked up a microphone to introduce and talk about the Boulez, if only to try to make it a little bit less incomprehensible and cacophonous to the ears of the audience. Apparently these notations were originally written for solo piano, so he talked through each of the notations with the help of the Seattle Symphony pianist, and then when it was time to perform them, he had the piano again play the original piano version of each notation before the orchestra would follow with the orchestrated version. They performed the notations in the order I, IV, III, II because of the raucous, climactic ending at the end of II.
A funny thing that happened is that toward the beginning of introducing the Boulez, Morlot said something about "first hearing them in their original piano versions, and then seeing how they became grand magnificentries in the orchestra." And then he repeated the line verbatim right before they began performing them, which I think was a mistake due to performing the concert twice.
I personally didn't mind the notations too much. The orchestra played them very well and they had a lot of interesting acoustical effects. The orchestra was massive, so there was a lot to look at and follow, and it was therefore relatively easy to stay somewhat engaged even with the complete lack of harmony.
When the last notation ended, intermission began. The first half, including all the talking and playing introduction, couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. Definitely the shortest first half ever. I suppose it's an awkward thing to program a long Mahler symphony, because it's just a bit too short to comprise a concert-with-no-intermission by itself, but if you have an intermission and a first half, it's got to be quite short unless you want to end up with a three hour concert.
I saw several people I know in the audience last night, but unfortunately didn't get to speak with most of them. I saw three or four fellow UW students, a conductor who I used to play under and who actually conducted a movement of my second symphony, and then some family friends who we see from time to time who are very into music. The last of that group I did get to speak with, for they spotted me on the balcony in the lobby and came up to say hi. One of them was carrying the score to Mahler 6, which I thought was just awesome. I couldn't get over it.
Speaking with my friend with the score was actually very helpful because he clarified for me the form of the Mahler symphony in a way that actually helped me finally be able to follow the form of the movements during the performance. It turns out that during those really long passages of winding, journeying orchestral writing, there isn't any intricate form hidden in those; they are just really really long development sections usually. Anyways, we then returned to our seats for the Mahler symphony, and settled in for the long ride.
Morlot returned to the podium and gave the downbeat to the eighty-minute work. The cellos and basses kicked in con fuoco. The repeated driving notes that open the symphony were loud, gritty, percussive, and with a sweeping drive forward through the pulse. The snare drum and the strings picked up the energy and climbed up with their dotted motifs to the tonic a minor chord, at which point the brass burst onto the scene, propelling and maintaining the intense energy. My new girlfriend, who had never been to a symphony before, literally uttered an involuntary "wow" five or ten seconds into the opening of the piece. I'll admit I had fears about Morlot treating Mahler in too French a manner, softening the edges, etc. All those fears were gone within the first few seconds of the performance.
The first movement was absolutely thrilling from beginning to end. For the first time the piece really began to make sense to me. Unlike Mahler 2, 3 or 5, with which I am more familiar, the dramatic coherence of Mahler 6 continuously eluded me. But throughout the course of the first movement last night, it all came together, it was a very clear symphonic journey. The clarity of the orchestral textures was electrifying, the pulse of the music was impeccable. There was really nothing that stuck out to me as lacking in any way.
Morlot chose to perform the four movements in their original order, with the fast scherzo coming right after the first movement, followed by the slow movement and then the finale. I like this order because it has a similar effect to the second movement of Beethoven 9 following the first movement. One fiery, dramatic movement comes to an end, and it's immediately followed by more driving, minor music, as if to say "and here is chapter two of the same journey, there's no rest for you." It has a magnificent effect. I can't help but think that this scherzo partially inspired the polish composer Wojciech Kilar when he composed the score to Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula film from 1992.
In terms of the form, I began to make sense of the scherzo as well last night. For the first time, during those subdued wind-centric passages, I thought "hey, that's the trio!" I suppose I could be wrong, but that's what it seemed like to me.
The slow movement, which is my favorite, is the only one in which I may have been moved a little bit less than I was hoping to be. I suppose this is probably because it's my favorite movement, and the expectations for favorites are always set too high. I can't really complain about anything that they did; the tempo was good, the soaring string passages were haunting and expressive, the erie, lonely moments with the winds conjured images of utter desolation. It's just that it's the kind of movement that no matter how much you do with it, it feels like there can always be more done. It's tempting to want every note to be dragged out to eternity, every phrase to last twice as long as it does so that you can savor the heart-wrenching beauty or the heart-wrenching loneliness.
And finally came the last movement, which by itself is longer than the majority of symphonies written in the classical era. This is still my least favorite movement of the bunch, as it really does seem to just go on forever, and while there are dark, thrilling passages reminiscent of the style of the first movement, there are also extended periods where I'm just not sure what Mahler is trying to say. In those moments I didn't try to figure it out, I would just let my thoughts wander and be supported by the excellent orchestral playing coming from the stage. I was able to follow the form more than usual, having been informed by my friend during intermission that this movement has a ten minute development section. I was then able to follow the form just in the sense of picking up on when the repeat of the exposition begins, and when the recapitulation begins after the development. It is quite straightforward, I just didn't pick up on it before because I couldn't believe it would have a ten minute development, so I would always end up getting lost, assuming I'm missing something.
The last movement contains the famous three hammer strokes of fate. A giant wooden box was situated towards the back left of the stage, and a giant wooden hammer sat next to it. Principal percussionist Michael Werner would move over there at the appropriate times, lift the hammer high over his head, his arms shaking slightly from the weight, and then smash it down onto the box on the appropriate downbeat. The first hammer stroke seemed a bit subdued, and I wondered why they chose to have a padding on the wooden box to muffle the effect. The second hammer stroke had more of a crack to it and was more satisfying. And the third one, which is supposed to happen right at the end of the piece, seconds before the movement comes to a close, didn't happen. There is a lot of superstition surrounding these three strokes of fate, because Mahler wrote this piece at a really happy time in his life, and after he wrote these three strokes of fate, three strokes of fate plagued his life, the last one of which was his own death. I was honestly surprised that they actually feared the repercussions of executing all three hammer strokes though. I mean, really? They still had a loud percussive effect on that last explosion right at the end, with the help of the timpani, bass and snare drums, but I was really disappointed in their avoidance of the third hammer stroke.
It was really amazing how quickly the time moved throughout the entire work. It was really an excellent performance. There are extended sections of this piece that took me more than ten listenings just to begin to like, and last night the entirety of the piece was laid out with such clarity and seemingly effortless coherence, that the eighty-minute symphonic journey did not feel any longer than forty. As the applause took off following the commencement of the epic adventure, my girlfriend asked "is it over?" and was extremely disappointed to face the fact that it was. That right there is proof of an excellent performance. A first time symphony goer vs. Mahler 6, and the Mahler won.
Next up is Beethoven's Pastoral symphony on November 16th!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13615&src=t&dateid=13615
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13615&src=t&dateid=13615
Monday, November 4, 2013
November 3rd, 2013: Vienna Boys Choir
Yesterday evening's concert of the Vienna Boys Choir was very entertaining, and also contained a lot of beautiful music. The choir splits up into four groups to go touring, and the one I saw last night was the "Bruckner" choir, which doesn't mean they sing Bruckner, it's just the name they got. In addition to commenting on the performances throughout the evening there's going to be a short discussion on race, culture and assimilation for reasons you'll soon see.
The choir of twenty-four boys came on stage from opposite ends in groups of thirteen and eleven, respectively, and took up their spots on little risers on either side of a grand piano that was positioned with its lid closed and the keys facing the audience. The thirteen boys on the left were all white. The eleven boys on the right consisted of seven white, two black, one Asian and one middle-eastern. This was to be expected, and I assumed they were all born in Europe and are Europeans just like the rest of them, with ethnic heritage that happens to be from different parts of the world. However it didn't turn out to be that simple, as we'll find out.
A fellow named Manolo Cagnin was the choirmaster for the evening, and this guy was on fire. You can't get more intense than he was without looking like you're actually having a seizure. He sat down at the piano and immediately kicked off "O Fortuna" from Carmina Burana, by Carl Orff. He slammed the first notes on the piano, and his big swath of blond hair thrashed about as he pounded away and emphatically mouthed the words to the choir. The sound of the choir was initially slightly underwhelming naturally, especially starting with a piece like that that we're used to hearing with a massive vocal ensemble. This was only twenty-four boys, so there was a limit to what kind of sound they could produce. I got accustomed to it quickly though.
During the Orff I noticed that the middle-eastern boy and the Asian boy, who were situated in front of one another on the far right-hand side of the choir, didn't seem to be as into it as the rest. In fact, they often looked lost, as if struggling to remember the words. The Asian boy also had a symbol that he would crash during the Orff, and one of the boys on the left side of the piano had a little drum thing that he would beat during that piece as well.
After the first piece was over, Cagnin got up from the piano and spoke to the audience. He spoke about how the first half of the program will be mostly classical repertoire, and the second half will become "more fun" with polkas, waltzes and some pop music and folk songs. He even said something like "I hope the first half won't be too boring" in a humorous tone.
The pieces that followed were gorgeous. Classical, mostly religious music by Eybler, Haydn, Victoria, Schubert and Mascagni comprised most of the first half of the program. The boys voices were angelic, revealing clearly the beautiful classical harmonies and counterpoints in the pieces. In the first or second piece following the Orff, the littlest boy in the choir had some incredible solos. I had actually already noticed him during the Orff; he had the appearance of a prodigy. An extremely bright, competent and thoughtful little fellow, who was also adorable. He couldn't have been older than eight. He sang his solos with absolute purity and clear intent. His voice was like a bell, filling the auditorium completely. After that piece ended he stepped forward for a bow and got wild applause and shouts of approval from the audience.
Once several of the classical pieces had gone by, Cagnin again took the microphone and told the audience that the next three pieces were written specifically for the Vienna Boys 'Bruckner' Choir. They were certainly more modern sounding than the previous several works, but they were beautiful and did not get too dissonant. The first half closed with a "Jubilate Deo" by Heinz Kratochwil, which I don't believe was one of the three songs written for the choir.
After intermission, the second half immediately took on a different energy. They began with "Éljen a Magyar" by Johann Strauss, Jr. and Rudolf Effenberger, which was a wonderful, more upbeat piece. They ended it with a shout. Then came "The Sound of Silence" by Paul Simon, the first real pop song on the program. I recognized the song, and I suppose it's one of the nicer pop songs out there, but it still felt a little out of place to me. Then came "Oh Happy Day" which as you probably know is a gospel tune. Let's get back to the race, culture and assimilation issue now.
It was evident from the beginning of the program that the two boys of African decent in the choir had a very different timber to their voices than did the rest of the choir. This should be no surprise to anybody; they do have different voices. So that alone begs the question: What does "Vienna" in "Vienna Boys Choir" mean? The choir has been around for half a millennium, and the boys of Vienna have a particular sound to their voices that African boys do not have. If the choir had become entirely African, it simply wouldn't sound like what we'd think of as a Viennese choir anymore, even if they were all raised in Vienna. What is the tipping point?
During the first half I had no quarrels with the presence of that complimentary timber from the two black boys. It actually thickened the texture of the choir and added an additional dimension. The clear, bell-like sound of the white boys entirely by themselves would have been just a bit more hollow without the additional texture brought by those of African decent. And with the difference in their voice being an entirely physical thing, it's not as if being raised in Austria and assimilating to Austrian culture could change that.
But then came "Oh Happy Day," a gospel tune, sung in a gospel style, and the taller of the two black boys had a solo in it. Why? If this is a Viennese choir and race is only skin deep, why insert music of a more African style simply because there are two people in the choir who happen to be of African ethnicity? What does their ethnicity matter? Are they not Viennese like the rest? Does culture transcend race or not?
Perhaps it was something on the part of the Viennese. Perhaps they decided that since there are two black boys in the choir, that they ought to give them something "from their culture," even though that's not their culture. This is definitely a very realistic possibility; a white society assuming that someone who isn't white will desire a connection to a different culture. It happens all the time here in America. In any case, I am very curious how it was that cultural assimilation failed to happen in the case of this choir. A Viennese choir is a Viennese choir. Race is a purely physical thing and should not affect the culture of the ensemble.
In any case, the tall black boy stepped forward after the song with his solo, and got an exuberant ovation from the audience. He looked at the choirmaster with a "whoa" look on his face as the shouts and applause hit him. Then they sang a tune from the film "As It Is in Heaven," followed by a tune by the band Abba called "Thank You for the Music," which I again recognized.
By this point there had been a few instances of boys leaving the stage abruptly as soon as a song ends, and sometimes returning before the next song starts, and sometimes not. A couple boys left right after the Abba song, and returned with a music stand and one of them carrying a little oboe. There was an oboe/soprano duet with one of the boys in the song "Nel blu dipinto di blu" by Domenico Modugno. It's a pretty famous tune I believe, it was very familiar to me.
After that, about eight boys from the left side of the piano took off and exited the stage. Cagnin spoke to the audience about how the boy with the oboe had come to him and asked if they could sometimes play instruments on stage, because they're always singing and it gets old sometimes. Cagnin said something to the effect of "I thought, it's dangerous, but it could work. And the next day…" and then he gestured to the herd of boys returning to the stage carrying a trombone, two trumpets and a violin. The audience loved it, and admittedly it was pretty entertaining. I don't know why they had eight or nine boys leave to come back with four instruments though, but it did initially create the illusion that there were more than four instruments.
They then played "Nella fantasia" from the film The Mission by Ennio Morricone. It was an incredibly simple piece, consisting mostly of I V I chords, which seemed to be all that the boys could play on their instruments. It was a gag, that's all.
The rest of the program consisted of a few more folk tunes, and then got into some Strauss waltzes, which are classic Viennese repertoire. This is Johann Strauss, Jr. mind you, not the famous Richard Strauss.
The adorable little boy got another even more impressive solo at one point, after which Cagnin gave him a hi-five and the audience gave him a partial standing ovation. What happened next was kind of amusing. Cagnin needed to bring the applause to an end so they could continue the program, and so he sat down and abruptly started the next piece. It was a really fast one with the choir entering almost immediately after the piano begins, and Cagnin hadn't turned to the right page in his book before starting, so he was fumbling trying to turn the pages after having already started, and the piece fell apart. He stopped playing, made a very quick "cutoff" gesture to the choir, and started the piece again.
One of my favorite parts of the evening, which happened towards the end of the concert, was when the adorable little soloist guy gave out a few shouts and hoots during a song. He was situated in the back row of singers at this point, and out of nowhere he made these festive sounds that I can't even describe. It was absolutely priceless.
At the end of the program the audience gave a complete standing ovation, and when Cagnin gave them a "one more?" look and gesture, they roared with approval, and he sat down at the piano to lead one more song. This song turned out to be another upbeat, almost-gospel style tune in which the tall black boy had an even longer solo than before, again not in Viennese style at all. And after that was over, the audience's applause showed that they wanted still more, but Cagnin made a sleeping gesture to them, indicating that the boys have an early bedtime, and the concert came to an end.
In summary and conclusion, it was a lovely concert. I wish that they had sung more classical, religious music though, and I don't feel that they should be relying on gags like the instrument thing in order to make their concerts memorable. The classical works in the first half were gorgeous; if they had just sung works like that throughout, that should have left a profound impression on the audience. No need to resort to circus antics. Also, this was to be expected, but Cagnin's piano playing was rather unpracticed. It was that sort of desperate sight-reading style of playing where notes are regularly missing and the main focus is on keeping the tempo up to speed and steady. I'm sure he doesn't have time to practice, nor is there much of a need to, since the voices of the choir are the focus of the audience. His playing served its purpose.
Also, this is really random, but I spotted Seattle Symphony principal oboist Ben Hausmann sitting across the way in Box B. I was actually really happy to see that, to see a symphony member take the time to go to a concert. Normally they just don't get around to it because they're playing concerts all the time.
Next up is Mahler's 6th Symphony on November 9th!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=14453&src=t&dateid=14453
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=14453&src=t&dateid=14453
Sunday, November 3, 2013
November 3rd, 2013: Chamber series: Beethoven & Piazzolla
I have just returned from this afternoon chamber music concert, and am going to try to write up my review within the next hour before I leave again to hear the Vienna Boys Choir at 7:00pm.
This was the first chamber music recital I'd ever been to featuring Seattle Symphony musicians, and it was quite excellent. It was in the upstairs recital hall rather than the main concert hall, and it featured a wide variety of music. The program opened with the Quintette instrumental by Hector Villa-Lobos, followed by the String Quartet in D major, Op. 18 No. 3, by Beethoven. This concluded the first half. In the second half there was a Concertino for Flute, Viola and Double Bass by Erwin Schulhoff, which was followed by a piece called Cafetín de Buenos Aires for six cellos by Mariano Mores, arranged by Thomas-Mifune. Then came La muerte del ángel and Resurrectión del ángel by Ástor Piazzolla, which was succeeded by Messagesquisse by Pierre Boulez, and then the final piece was the Aria (Cantelina) from Bachianas Brasilerias, No. 5, again by Villa-Lobos.
Principal cellist Efe Baltacigil was heavily featured throughout the program, which was a great thing. All the musicians chosen to be on the program were excellent though, there was nary a weak link throughout.
The opening piece by Villa-Lobos was not to my taste, but the excellence of the musicianship on stage was immediately evident. It was wonderful to hear just a few of the symphony musicians in a more intimate setting and hear what wonderful musicians they are. The flutist, Paul Taub, I did not recognize though. I don't believe he's a Seattle Symphony flutist, but he was quite good.
For the Beethoven quartet the absolute best musicians were chosen. Principal violinist Alexander Velinzon was on first violin, Efe Baltacigil was on cello, and principal violist Susan Gulkis Assadi and violinist Anait Arutunian rounded out the quartet. Anait was another musician who I don't believe is a symphony regular, but she made a solid complement to Velinzon on first violin. I wasn't too familiar with the Beethoven quartet, which is a crime, but it was played very well and was an engaging experience. I believe it was during the Beethoven that I first noticed a few symptoms of sight-reading syndrome, especially when Efe missed a note and made a face about it. Obviously these musicians don't have time to thoroughly rehearse such a long program, but they did remarkably well in spite of evidently short rehearsal time.
During intermission I sat on this backless couch thing against the wall in the upstairs lobby and closed my eyes for most of the time. I had been kind of tired during the first half because of getting up early to play piano in church, so I thought maybe I could catch a quick turbo-boost during intermission. I didn't fall asleep, but I think it helped.
The second half began with the Schulhoff concertino, which felt dreadfully long to me, and it sort of clumps in my mind with the opening Villa-Lobos in that I failed to connect with it at all. It was inspired by a visit to a Slavic folk festival though, so it did have some lovely folk-like melodies and dances in it.
The last four pieces on the program really made the afternoon spectacular. Six Seattle Symphony cellists came out to perform the Mores, which was a gorgeous tango, made even more beautiful by the acoustics of six cellos playing it. It was the most enjoyable time I had had yet during the recital. The program listed the Boulez as following the Mores, and Efe came out to talk to the audience about what they were playing and also to announce that the Piazzolla and Boulez were being switched around.
A quartet of cellists performed the two works by Piazzolla. I really love Piazzolla's music. His tangos are just irresistible. The two that they performed today were no exception. The seductive harmonies and rhythms cannot fail to draw you in and move you. It seemed the musicians were enjoying this music immensely as well, particularly Efe, who spoke with love about these pieces in particular in a video that the Symphony featured on their Facebook page in the last few days.
Then came the Boulez, which Efe, during his little talk after the Mores, essentially apologized for, saying "it's challenging but effective. And it's only about ten minutes, so don't worry." However, I found his apology to be unnecessary, as the piece was quite engaging. Obviously it wasn't exactly music, but it was quite interesting and kept my attention. Efe was the soloist for the work, sitting in front of the other cellists, which earned him a shove onto the stage by himself from the rest of the ensemble after they had all taken their first bow and exited. The audience was very enthusiastic about it, giving it an ovation at least as strong as the other works on the program.
And last came the second piece by Villa-Lobos, which was the exact opposite of the first one to my ears. This one spoke directly to me, piercing right to my core with its haunting lines, pulsing rhythms, and that melody that is one of those "how did he do it?" revelations. For this work Emma McGrath performed as a singer in front of the cello section. Emma McGrath is the Associate Concertmaster of the Seattle Symphony, and apparently she is also trained as a singer. The experience of seeing this aria performed by her and those cellists is something I will never forget. It was beyond breathtaking. It was just absolutely heart-wrenching, haunting and impactful. I gave a standing ovation for that performance along with pretty much every other person in that auditorium. It was really something.
And now I'm going to take a ten minute nap, grab some dinner, and head out to hear the Vienna Boys Choir!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13831&src=t&dateid=13831
This was the first chamber music recital I'd ever been to featuring Seattle Symphony musicians, and it was quite excellent. It was in the upstairs recital hall rather than the main concert hall, and it featured a wide variety of music. The program opened with the Quintette instrumental by Hector Villa-Lobos, followed by the String Quartet in D major, Op. 18 No. 3, by Beethoven. This concluded the first half. In the second half there was a Concertino for Flute, Viola and Double Bass by Erwin Schulhoff, which was followed by a piece called Cafetín de Buenos Aires for six cellos by Mariano Mores, arranged by Thomas-Mifune. Then came La muerte del ángel and Resurrectión del ángel by Ástor Piazzolla, which was succeeded by Messagesquisse by Pierre Boulez, and then the final piece was the Aria (Cantelina) from Bachianas Brasilerias, No. 5, again by Villa-Lobos.
Principal cellist Efe Baltacigil was heavily featured throughout the program, which was a great thing. All the musicians chosen to be on the program were excellent though, there was nary a weak link throughout.
The opening piece by Villa-Lobos was not to my taste, but the excellence of the musicianship on stage was immediately evident. It was wonderful to hear just a few of the symphony musicians in a more intimate setting and hear what wonderful musicians they are. The flutist, Paul Taub, I did not recognize though. I don't believe he's a Seattle Symphony flutist, but he was quite good.
For the Beethoven quartet the absolute best musicians were chosen. Principal violinist Alexander Velinzon was on first violin, Efe Baltacigil was on cello, and principal violist Susan Gulkis Assadi and violinist Anait Arutunian rounded out the quartet. Anait was another musician who I don't believe is a symphony regular, but she made a solid complement to Velinzon on first violin. I wasn't too familiar with the Beethoven quartet, which is a crime, but it was played very well and was an engaging experience. I believe it was during the Beethoven that I first noticed a few symptoms of sight-reading syndrome, especially when Efe missed a note and made a face about it. Obviously these musicians don't have time to thoroughly rehearse such a long program, but they did remarkably well in spite of evidently short rehearsal time.
During intermission I sat on this backless couch thing against the wall in the upstairs lobby and closed my eyes for most of the time. I had been kind of tired during the first half because of getting up early to play piano in church, so I thought maybe I could catch a quick turbo-boost during intermission. I didn't fall asleep, but I think it helped.
The second half began with the Schulhoff concertino, which felt dreadfully long to me, and it sort of clumps in my mind with the opening Villa-Lobos in that I failed to connect with it at all. It was inspired by a visit to a Slavic folk festival though, so it did have some lovely folk-like melodies and dances in it.
The last four pieces on the program really made the afternoon spectacular. Six Seattle Symphony cellists came out to perform the Mores, which was a gorgeous tango, made even more beautiful by the acoustics of six cellos playing it. It was the most enjoyable time I had had yet during the recital. The program listed the Boulez as following the Mores, and Efe came out to talk to the audience about what they were playing and also to announce that the Piazzolla and Boulez were being switched around.
A quartet of cellists performed the two works by Piazzolla. I really love Piazzolla's music. His tangos are just irresistible. The two that they performed today were no exception. The seductive harmonies and rhythms cannot fail to draw you in and move you. It seemed the musicians were enjoying this music immensely as well, particularly Efe, who spoke with love about these pieces in particular in a video that the Symphony featured on their Facebook page in the last few days.
Then came the Boulez, which Efe, during his little talk after the Mores, essentially apologized for, saying "it's challenging but effective. And it's only about ten minutes, so don't worry." However, I found his apology to be unnecessary, as the piece was quite engaging. Obviously it wasn't exactly music, but it was quite interesting and kept my attention. Efe was the soloist for the work, sitting in front of the other cellists, which earned him a shove onto the stage by himself from the rest of the ensemble after they had all taken their first bow and exited. The audience was very enthusiastic about it, giving it an ovation at least as strong as the other works on the program.
And last came the second piece by Villa-Lobos, which was the exact opposite of the first one to my ears. This one spoke directly to me, piercing right to my core with its haunting lines, pulsing rhythms, and that melody that is one of those "how did he do it?" revelations. For this work Emma McGrath performed as a singer in front of the cello section. Emma McGrath is the Associate Concertmaster of the Seattle Symphony, and apparently she is also trained as a singer. The experience of seeing this aria performed by her and those cellists is something I will never forget. It was beyond breathtaking. It was just absolutely heart-wrenching, haunting and impactful. I gave a standing ovation for that performance along with pretty much every other person in that auditorium. It was really something.
And now I'm going to take a ten minute nap, grab some dinner, and head out to hear the Vienna Boys Choir!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13831&src=t&dateid=13831
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
October 28th, 2013: Organ series: Stephen Cleobury
I decided to go to this organ recital at Benaroya Hall on the evening of Monday, October 28th. I had never heard the Watjen Concert Organ in a solo recital, and there was Bach, Mendelssohn and Schumann on the program, so I figured it would be nice. Stephen Cleobury was the organist, and apparently he's a rather well known British organist who is also the director of the King's College Choir.
I'm not sure why this was the case, but I found myself bored throughout most of the program. The two Bach pieces he played were not famous works and were not among Bach's best. The Mendelssohn was also exactly what you would expect from an unknown Mendelssohn work. I don't know what it was really. I found myself surprised at how unengaged I was. The music was beautiful, and the organ sound was majestic; I just couldn't get very into it for some reason. I did notice that Cleobury seemed to be sight reading a lot of the pieces, and that could have been a factor that contributed to the lack of impact on me. Or perhaps with all the multitasking required on the organ, it always appears as though the performer is sight reading. I don't know.
The most amusing part of the evening was the man who sat next to me in Box B. His facial expression resembled the angel Clarence from It's a Wonderful Life, he had a possessed look in his eyes, and he stank. He kept talking to me before the recital began, explaining to me the difference between an organ with electronic functionality vs. one where the action of pressing the key down directly and physically opens the valves. And he said things like "I've been coming to these recitals since that instrument first spoke. In 2000." I really wouldn't have minded if he didn't stink.
Anyways, the whole program had a kind of progression through time theme to it. The first half went Bach, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Reger. Then the second half started very early again with Couperin, but then went Franck, Vierne and Messiaen. Before the second half began, Cleobury picked up a microphone and spoke to the audience for several minutes. I couldn't understand half of what he said due to a combination of the thick British accent and the fact that I was situated almost directly under the speakers. Clarence next to me seemed to understand every word though.
I found myself drifting into half-asleep states throughout a lot of the performance. I know that the Franck was a very grand, technically impressive piece, and it garnered above average applause. Upon its conclusion Clarence looked at me with an intense gleam in his eye. I heard parts of it, but I was drifting in and out of consciousness at others. It's not that I was even that tired, I just became tired as soon as a piece would be going for a few minutes.
I'm definitely going to be going to another of these organ recitals, because I'm really curious what it was that made me so disengaged on Monday. I want to know if a different organist and different repertoire will make things different.
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13806&src=t&dateid=13806
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13806&src=t&dateid=13806
Sunday, October 27, 2013
October 26th, 2013: Haydn & Tchaikovsky
Last night was the fourth Masterworks concert of the season. Guest conductor Alastair Willis conducted a reduced orchestra in Elgar's Serenade in E minor for Strings, Haydn's Cello Concerto in C major, "Mozart's" 37th symphony and Tchaikovsky's Serenade in C major for Strings. Pavel Gomziakov was soloing on the cello for the Haydn, and "Mozart" is in quotes because as you may know Mozart's 37th symphony is actually a symphony by Michael Haydn, which Mozart wrote a ninety second introduction to.
I had originally planned to opt out of this concert because I was trying to avoid the concerts where the orchestra is reduced due to sharing with the opera. They schedule the year so that the majority of those concerts are in the Mainly Mozart and Baroque & Wine series', but two Masterworks concerts this year also inevitably coincided with opera performances, this being one of them. However, now that I'm going alone to most concerts, I will be going to practically everything since I have a spare ticket from each Masterworks concert to exchange into something else!
Fortunately they managed to keep a great deal of the key string players in Benaroya Hall for this concert. With the Elgar and Tchaikovsky serenades for strings that was probably an obligation on their part. There were very few winds and brass employed throughout the evening, just a flute, a few oboes, a bassoon and some horns.
Alastair Willis opened the concert with the Serenade in E minor for Strings by Elgar. While I was immediately pleased with the lush fullness of the string sound, Willis' conducting was also immediately lacking. I couldn't point to any specifics as I don't know enough about it, but I can say that everything that would make a conductor great in my eyes wasn't there with Willis. He seemed to lack depth, and his gestures and facial expressions seemed almost to be an analogy to something he held in his mind, rather than a direct authentic expression. A fake smile was plastered on his face for much of the time, appearing to be trying to try to invoke excitement or warmth within the players. The tone of the strings was good due to the technical skill of the players, but Willis failed to bring it beyond its base default sound.
Willis is actually a great fan of the Elgar serenade, particularly the slow second movement. But even there, the serious facial expression he gave the orchestra before giving the downbeat seemed more to say "okay, here's the serious one, let's be grave" than to actually invoke graveness. I was ready for this piece to be over long before it was, especially since I'm a fan of the wonderfully light and tuneful Haydn cello concerto, which I believe I became familiar with many years ago when my brother Oliver was learning it.
After the Elgar the stage was reset for the Haydn, and Pavel Gomziakov came on stage followed by Alastair Willis. He took his bow and then situated himself on the customary cello soloist pedestal. And then I sowed my ears shut. Oh wait no, that's what I would have done if I could have seen into the future.
Willis led the orchestra through the orchestral introduction in much the same manner as he led them through the Elgar. His plastered smile was ever-present, and his light and ineffective gestures did little to alter or expand on the default sound of the orchestra. And then Pavel began the first solo section.
It was a joke. It really and truly was a joke. You know how sometimes you might be goofing off in the living room with some instruments, scores and a few friends? You might play things way too fast, too slow, too high, too low, in an exaggerated or humorous manner, etc? Pavel Gomziakov made a mockery out of every single note in the score, twisting it one way or another, accompanied by a comical and exaggerated facial expression. He was the utmost epitome of the 'show business' style of classical music performance which is so prevalent among young rising stars today. I would say he was hot on the heels of Lang Lang in this ghastly pretentiousness, but on further reflection I believe he may have actually usurped Lang Lang from his throne. No note was left alone to simply be played and delivered to the ear, no phrase was executed with a natural expression, the way one might speak, or hum to themselves. Notes that started at ppp, went to fff and returned to ppp within the length of a bow were followed by equally grotesque percussive uses of the bow on shorter notes, which were often accompanied by a facial expression which seemed to suggest walking on eggs or hot coals.
Within seconds of Pavel's first opening in the first movement, I actually inadvertently buried my face in my hand and just waited for it to be over. There was no way to elicit any enjoyment from the music in a situation like this, with the performer constantly snatching it out from under your ear and engaging in a macabre dance with it.
When the final movement finally ended the audience leapt to their feat in exuberant applause. Moments like that really make me think "What's the point? Why are we doing this? Why am I here? Why am I fighting to preserve this art form?" Then intermission began. I wandered about and eventually made my way into the Friends Lounge. I didn't have any tea though. Eventually a young usher guy started talking to me about the first half of the concert. I was very honest about my thoughts, feeling comfortable being so since I only had good things to say about the Seattle Symphony. I had a good little chat with him, and I'll probably bump into him again. I then returned to my seat for the Mozart/Haydn and the Tchaikovsky serenade.
Alastair Willis picked up a microphone before beginning the second half in order to talk about the nature of the Mozart/Haydn symphony. He didn't mention anything about Mozart's superstition about the number thirty-seven being the cause of his avoidance of writing a symphony with that number, but I'm pretty sure that that's the reason he didn't.
The one thing I learned from the talk was that it was Michael Haydn and not Joseph Haydn, whose symphony Mozart used. I had always assumed it was Joseph, but Michael makes more sense. And when I learned that I become more excited about hearing it because I've always been a fan of Michael Haydn's work. However, this particular symphony didn't enchant my ears very much, and I'm not sure whether it was the work or Willis who got in the way of that. The orchestra again sounded solid, and Willis fake smiled a lot, and it was nothing awfully memorable.
The last piece on the program was the Tchaikovsky Serenade for Strings. I wasn't sure if I had ever heard this work before, but I assumed I must have at some point. While it did not sound very familiar to me, I was surprised by how rich and beautiful it was. It had many minor aspects to it even though it was in the key of C major, and the string texture was always very full. Willis seemed to exercise just a bit more command over the orchestra in this piece, and I felt it was the strongest collaboration between conductor and orchestra that the evening had to offer. Even missing several players, the Seattle Symphony string section proved themselves quite well in this work. The last movement in particular really took off, and the fast excited passages near the end were bursting with energy. It's not a piece I'll be listening to again, but it was certainly a convincing performance of it.
Next up is an organ recital I'm going to tomorrow evening!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13722&src=t&dateid=13722
I had originally planned to opt out of this concert because I was trying to avoid the concerts where the orchestra is reduced due to sharing with the opera. They schedule the year so that the majority of those concerts are in the Mainly Mozart and Baroque & Wine series', but two Masterworks concerts this year also inevitably coincided with opera performances, this being one of them. However, now that I'm going alone to most concerts, I will be going to practically everything since I have a spare ticket from each Masterworks concert to exchange into something else!
Fortunately they managed to keep a great deal of the key string players in Benaroya Hall for this concert. With the Elgar and Tchaikovsky serenades for strings that was probably an obligation on their part. There were very few winds and brass employed throughout the evening, just a flute, a few oboes, a bassoon and some horns.
Alastair Willis opened the concert with the Serenade in E minor for Strings by Elgar. While I was immediately pleased with the lush fullness of the string sound, Willis' conducting was also immediately lacking. I couldn't point to any specifics as I don't know enough about it, but I can say that everything that would make a conductor great in my eyes wasn't there with Willis. He seemed to lack depth, and his gestures and facial expressions seemed almost to be an analogy to something he held in his mind, rather than a direct authentic expression. A fake smile was plastered on his face for much of the time, appearing to be trying to try to invoke excitement or warmth within the players. The tone of the strings was good due to the technical skill of the players, but Willis failed to bring it beyond its base default sound.
Willis is actually a great fan of the Elgar serenade, particularly the slow second movement. But even there, the serious facial expression he gave the orchestra before giving the downbeat seemed more to say "okay, here's the serious one, let's be grave" than to actually invoke graveness. I was ready for this piece to be over long before it was, especially since I'm a fan of the wonderfully light and tuneful Haydn cello concerto, which I believe I became familiar with many years ago when my brother Oliver was learning it.
After the Elgar the stage was reset for the Haydn, and Pavel Gomziakov came on stage followed by Alastair Willis. He took his bow and then situated himself on the customary cello soloist pedestal. And then I sowed my ears shut. Oh wait no, that's what I would have done if I could have seen into the future.
Willis led the orchestra through the orchestral introduction in much the same manner as he led them through the Elgar. His plastered smile was ever-present, and his light and ineffective gestures did little to alter or expand on the default sound of the orchestra. And then Pavel began the first solo section.
It was a joke. It really and truly was a joke. You know how sometimes you might be goofing off in the living room with some instruments, scores and a few friends? You might play things way too fast, too slow, too high, too low, in an exaggerated or humorous manner, etc? Pavel Gomziakov made a mockery out of every single note in the score, twisting it one way or another, accompanied by a comical and exaggerated facial expression. He was the utmost epitome of the 'show business' style of classical music performance which is so prevalent among young rising stars today. I would say he was hot on the heels of Lang Lang in this ghastly pretentiousness, but on further reflection I believe he may have actually usurped Lang Lang from his throne. No note was left alone to simply be played and delivered to the ear, no phrase was executed with a natural expression, the way one might speak, or hum to themselves. Notes that started at ppp, went to fff and returned to ppp within the length of a bow were followed by equally grotesque percussive uses of the bow on shorter notes, which were often accompanied by a facial expression which seemed to suggest walking on eggs or hot coals.
Within seconds of Pavel's first opening in the first movement, I actually inadvertently buried my face in my hand and just waited for it to be over. There was no way to elicit any enjoyment from the music in a situation like this, with the performer constantly snatching it out from under your ear and engaging in a macabre dance with it.
When the final movement finally ended the audience leapt to their feat in exuberant applause. Moments like that really make me think "What's the point? Why are we doing this? Why am I here? Why am I fighting to preserve this art form?" Then intermission began. I wandered about and eventually made my way into the Friends Lounge. I didn't have any tea though. Eventually a young usher guy started talking to me about the first half of the concert. I was very honest about my thoughts, feeling comfortable being so since I only had good things to say about the Seattle Symphony. I had a good little chat with him, and I'll probably bump into him again. I then returned to my seat for the Mozart/Haydn and the Tchaikovsky serenade.
Alastair Willis picked up a microphone before beginning the second half in order to talk about the nature of the Mozart/Haydn symphony. He didn't mention anything about Mozart's superstition about the number thirty-seven being the cause of his avoidance of writing a symphony with that number, but I'm pretty sure that that's the reason he didn't.
The one thing I learned from the talk was that it was Michael Haydn and not Joseph Haydn, whose symphony Mozart used. I had always assumed it was Joseph, but Michael makes more sense. And when I learned that I become more excited about hearing it because I've always been a fan of Michael Haydn's work. However, this particular symphony didn't enchant my ears very much, and I'm not sure whether it was the work or Willis who got in the way of that. The orchestra again sounded solid, and Willis fake smiled a lot, and it was nothing awfully memorable.
The last piece on the program was the Tchaikovsky Serenade for Strings. I wasn't sure if I had ever heard this work before, but I assumed I must have at some point. While it did not sound very familiar to me, I was surprised by how rich and beautiful it was. It had many minor aspects to it even though it was in the key of C major, and the string texture was always very full. Willis seemed to exercise just a bit more command over the orchestra in this piece, and I felt it was the strongest collaboration between conductor and orchestra that the evening had to offer. Even missing several players, the Seattle Symphony string section proved themselves quite well in this work. The last movement in particular really took off, and the fast excited passages near the end were bursting with energy. It's not a piece I'll be listening to again, but it was certainly a convincing performance of it.
Next up is an organ recital I'm going to tomorrow evening!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13722&src=t&dateid=13722
Sunday, October 20, 2013
October 19th, 2013: The Daughter of the Regiment at the Seattle Opera
Last night was the Opening Night performance of the Seattle Opera's 50th anniversary season. It was Donizetti's comic opera La Fille du Régiment (The Daughter of the Regiment).
I subscribed to two seats for the season, but couldn't find anybody available to come along tonight, so a ghost accompanied the seat next to me, and it turns out they actually quite enjoy opera. In any case, this was also my first time sitting in my subscription seats for an opera performance, and I must say I really like them. In fact, I might not move them at all even if I could afford any seat in the house.
Speight Jenkins took to the stage before the performance began, again receiving a vivacious applause very much like he did during the Ring when he came out to announce that their Brünnhilde was sick. This time when the crowd finally quieted, the first thing he did was to reassure everybody that nobody is sick. Then he acknowledged the opening of the 50th anniversary season, and asked those "charter subscribers" who had been subscribing for all 50 years to stand up. There were two or three of them that I could spot. Quite impressive. After that conductor Yves Abel entered the pit to begin the overture.
I'm semi-familiar with this opera due to the Metropolitan Opera Live in HD performance from a few years ago, with Natalie Dessay playing the role of Marie, the daughter of the regiment. There isn't a lot of really great music in it, but there are some deep moments, and certainly a lot of laughs. Opera houses take many liberties with a piece like this, inserting all kinds of jokes all over the place. Many of the jokes from the Met weren't seen tonight, but there were many new ones cooked up in this production that were nowhere to be found in the Met performance.
The overture was played very well. It's an extremely long, boring overture, but it was played as well as it could be played, and sparkled with life most of the time in spite of itself. Finally the curtain went up on a tavern in Tyrol, where the first act took place.
A regiment of the French army is stationed in Tyrol, led by Sergeant Sulpice (sung by Alexander Hajek). They have amongst them a girl that they found as an infant and brought up to be their daughter. The other principal characters we are introduced to at the beginning are the Marquise of Birkenfeld and her servant, Hortensius. The Marquise is a rich lady who wants to return to her mansion and doesn't bode well with war going on around her. The two of them make a comic duo, played by Joyce Castle and Karl Marx Reyes. Castle was a little bit on the older side, and it was beginning to show in her voice, but she had all the self-expression and humor necessary to make the role come to life. Hortensius was rather dryly interpreted in this production though. He looked a bit like a doctor, and he never engaged in any humor or antics that were extremely memorable.
Marie was sung by an excellent Sarah Coburn, who had a beautiful voice, great technique, and also acted quite well. And Tonio, her lover, was played by Lawrence Brownlee, a young tenor with a wonderful, creamy voice, but who unfortunately was quite a bit shorter than Coburn, making them a slightly awkward pair.
Throughout the first act the cast was all around wonderful, and the orchestra as well. There were absolutely no togetherness issues between the orchestra and singers, which seems to be the norm at the Seattle Opera fortunately. Coburn and Hajek were wonderful in their first duet where they sing about how the regiment found Marie as a baby and brought her up. The chorus of men (the regiment) were also very good, and several of the men were very involved in their acting, which is always nice.
Brownlee did amazingly with the famous aria with the nine high Cs, and received quite an ovation from the audience. He also was very good at the random insertions of humor that kept the audience laughing. A couple of his moments in particular stick in my mind; absolutely priceless. Of course, those things are much easier to be good at than great musicality.
What ends up happening in the first act is that the Marquise discovers that Marie is her own daughter (though she pretends it's merely her niece at first), and she takes her away to try to assimilate her into the aristocratic culture that is her birthright. This greatly saddens the regiment, and Tonio obviously, who has joined the regiment by this point in order to be able to marry Marie. Marie has a gorgeous sad aria towards the end of the act, "Il faut partir," (literally 'It is necessary to leave') and then the act comes to a close shortly after that.
I wandered around the McCaw Hall lobby during intermission, making my way through the various levels. I didn't find anyone I knew, and eventually the 30 minute intermission came to an end and I returned to my seat.
The second act takes place entirely in the Marquise's mansion, and from the beginning evoked a great deal more laughter from the audience than the first act did. This is not a criticism of the first act; I think this is always the case with this opera. The situation in the second act presents much more opportunity for wacky slapstick humor to be inserted, and this production and cast capitalized on it very well.
Much of the dialog in the second act (and I believe to a lesser degree in the first act) was different than what I remember from the Met production. I only have these two productions to go by, but it seems that with a comic opera with spoken dialog between the pieces, much liberty can be taken to shape it in different ways.
The Marquise is trying to teach Marie how to be a respectable lady, mostly by having her sing lieder with her accompanying on the piano. Sulpice is there as well, and with his help Marie keeps falling into songs from the regiment, greatly frustrating the old Marquise. There was also a butler guy in the mansion who would start dancing gleefully every time Marie and Sulpice would pick the music up into a jollier rhythm and sing about the regiment. That butler was actually the most popular comical insertion in the production; you'd have to see him to understand why. The laughter was sustained, I'll say that much.
The Marquise has arranged to marry Marie to the Duke of Krakenthorp, which will give her honor and a name and all that. Tonio and the regiment show up, and Tonio sings a beautiful aria to the Marquise, explaining how much he loves Marie (Brownlee was again excellent here), but plans for the wedding to the Duke continue. Eventually the guests begin to arrive, at which point a very daring comical insertion presented itself. Where normally there would just be music playing and the guests piling into the mansion, in this production they had the pairs of guests hand cards with their names to Hortensuis, who would call out who they are, and they were all from different regions of the Seattle area. The first was "The Baron and Baroness of Medina," and then there was a pair from Puyallup, and from Hunts Point, etc. The audience laughed with each one even as the joke got old. I guess it didn't get old that quickly.
Then the Duchesse of Krakenthorp appeared, played by Peter Kazaras. That's right, a man played the Duchesse. He was all puffed up in a dress, with makeup and everything; it was quite a hoot. Some more priceless moments of comedy followed his... er, I mean her entrance, and she ended up singing an Offenbach song with the Marquise on the piano.
Of course the Marquise ends up changing her mind about the wedding and allows Marie to marry Tonio, and everyone is happy except for the Duchesse and the guests, who are caricatures of snobby nobility.
The second act was practically non-stop laughs and really complimented the first act very well. The performances from all involved were again very good throughout this act, and although it was opening night there seemed to be no glitches of any kind.
After the curtain went down at the end, the music of the second act of Die Walküre came storming into my head, as if to remind me that this was a fun show, but dramatic opera is practically a different genre, and one which I much prefer. Rigoletto is coming up in January, and I plan to see it at least three times.
Until then, the Seattle Opera is definitely still on top of its game!
I subscribed to two seats for the season, but couldn't find anybody available to come along tonight, so a ghost accompanied the seat next to me, and it turns out they actually quite enjoy opera. In any case, this was also my first time sitting in my subscription seats for an opera performance, and I must say I really like them. In fact, I might not move them at all even if I could afford any seat in the house.
Speight Jenkins took to the stage before the performance began, again receiving a vivacious applause very much like he did during the Ring when he came out to announce that their Brünnhilde was sick. This time when the crowd finally quieted, the first thing he did was to reassure everybody that nobody is sick. Then he acknowledged the opening of the 50th anniversary season, and asked those "charter subscribers" who had been subscribing for all 50 years to stand up. There were two or three of them that I could spot. Quite impressive. After that conductor Yves Abel entered the pit to begin the overture.
I'm semi-familiar with this opera due to the Metropolitan Opera Live in HD performance from a few years ago, with Natalie Dessay playing the role of Marie, the daughter of the regiment. There isn't a lot of really great music in it, but there are some deep moments, and certainly a lot of laughs. Opera houses take many liberties with a piece like this, inserting all kinds of jokes all over the place. Many of the jokes from the Met weren't seen tonight, but there were many new ones cooked up in this production that were nowhere to be found in the Met performance.
The overture was played very well. It's an extremely long, boring overture, but it was played as well as it could be played, and sparkled with life most of the time in spite of itself. Finally the curtain went up on a tavern in Tyrol, where the first act took place.
A regiment of the French army is stationed in Tyrol, led by Sergeant Sulpice (sung by Alexander Hajek). They have amongst them a girl that they found as an infant and brought up to be their daughter. The other principal characters we are introduced to at the beginning are the Marquise of Birkenfeld and her servant, Hortensius. The Marquise is a rich lady who wants to return to her mansion and doesn't bode well with war going on around her. The two of them make a comic duo, played by Joyce Castle and Karl Marx Reyes. Castle was a little bit on the older side, and it was beginning to show in her voice, but she had all the self-expression and humor necessary to make the role come to life. Hortensius was rather dryly interpreted in this production though. He looked a bit like a doctor, and he never engaged in any humor or antics that were extremely memorable.
Marie was sung by an excellent Sarah Coburn, who had a beautiful voice, great technique, and also acted quite well. And Tonio, her lover, was played by Lawrence Brownlee, a young tenor with a wonderful, creamy voice, but who unfortunately was quite a bit shorter than Coburn, making them a slightly awkward pair.
Throughout the first act the cast was all around wonderful, and the orchestra as well. There were absolutely no togetherness issues between the orchestra and singers, which seems to be the norm at the Seattle Opera fortunately. Coburn and Hajek were wonderful in their first duet where they sing about how the regiment found Marie as a baby and brought her up. The chorus of men (the regiment) were also very good, and several of the men were very involved in their acting, which is always nice.
Brownlee did amazingly with the famous aria with the nine high Cs, and received quite an ovation from the audience. He also was very good at the random insertions of humor that kept the audience laughing. A couple of his moments in particular stick in my mind; absolutely priceless. Of course, those things are much easier to be good at than great musicality.
What ends up happening in the first act is that the Marquise discovers that Marie is her own daughter (though she pretends it's merely her niece at first), and she takes her away to try to assimilate her into the aristocratic culture that is her birthright. This greatly saddens the regiment, and Tonio obviously, who has joined the regiment by this point in order to be able to marry Marie. Marie has a gorgeous sad aria towards the end of the act, "Il faut partir," (literally 'It is necessary to leave') and then the act comes to a close shortly after that.
I wandered around the McCaw Hall lobby during intermission, making my way through the various levels. I didn't find anyone I knew, and eventually the 30 minute intermission came to an end and I returned to my seat.
The second act takes place entirely in the Marquise's mansion, and from the beginning evoked a great deal more laughter from the audience than the first act did. This is not a criticism of the first act; I think this is always the case with this opera. The situation in the second act presents much more opportunity for wacky slapstick humor to be inserted, and this production and cast capitalized on it very well.
Much of the dialog in the second act (and I believe to a lesser degree in the first act) was different than what I remember from the Met production. I only have these two productions to go by, but it seems that with a comic opera with spoken dialog between the pieces, much liberty can be taken to shape it in different ways.
The Marquise is trying to teach Marie how to be a respectable lady, mostly by having her sing lieder with her accompanying on the piano. Sulpice is there as well, and with his help Marie keeps falling into songs from the regiment, greatly frustrating the old Marquise. There was also a butler guy in the mansion who would start dancing gleefully every time Marie and Sulpice would pick the music up into a jollier rhythm and sing about the regiment. That butler was actually the most popular comical insertion in the production; you'd have to see him to understand why. The laughter was sustained, I'll say that much.
The Marquise has arranged to marry Marie to the Duke of Krakenthorp, which will give her honor and a name and all that. Tonio and the regiment show up, and Tonio sings a beautiful aria to the Marquise, explaining how much he loves Marie (Brownlee was again excellent here), but plans for the wedding to the Duke continue. Eventually the guests begin to arrive, at which point a very daring comical insertion presented itself. Where normally there would just be music playing and the guests piling into the mansion, in this production they had the pairs of guests hand cards with their names to Hortensuis, who would call out who they are, and they were all from different regions of the Seattle area. The first was "The Baron and Baroness of Medina," and then there was a pair from Puyallup, and from Hunts Point, etc. The audience laughed with each one even as the joke got old. I guess it didn't get old that quickly.
Then the Duchesse of Krakenthorp appeared, played by Peter Kazaras. That's right, a man played the Duchesse. He was all puffed up in a dress, with makeup and everything; it was quite a hoot. Some more priceless moments of comedy followed his... er, I mean her entrance, and she ended up singing an Offenbach song with the Marquise on the piano.
Of course the Marquise ends up changing her mind about the wedding and allows Marie to marry Tonio, and everyone is happy except for the Duchesse and the guests, who are caricatures of snobby nobility.
The second act was practically non-stop laughs and really complimented the first act very well. The performances from all involved were again very good throughout this act, and although it was opening night there seemed to be no glitches of any kind.
After the curtain went down at the end, the music of the second act of Die Walküre came storming into my head, as if to remind me that this was a fun show, but dramatic opera is practically a different genre, and one which I much prefer. Rigoletto is coming up in January, and I plan to see it at least three times.
Until then, the Seattle Opera is definitely still on top of its game!
Sunday, October 13, 2013
October 10th, 2013: Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23
Thursday evening's concert was the second in the Masterworks season, and was led by British conductor Andrew Manze. The program consisted of a suite of four works by Purcell and Mozart's 23rd piano concerto in the first half, followed by Vaughan Williams' 5th symphony in the second half. Simone Dinnerstein was the soloist for the Mozart concerto.
Manze took to the podium at the start of the concert and picked up a microphone to say a few words to the audience. The suite of four Purcell works were not technically a suite, but simply four works by Purcell performed together. Manze spoke about them, and explained how some of them are orchestrated by Benjamin Britten, and some of them by Manze himself. He joked that the audience probably thinks of England as the land of no music, and said he hopes that this evening will convince them otherwise.
The four pieces by Purcell were beautiful. The first one was incredibly short, just a funeral march that couldn't have been longer than two minutes. The others were classic, beautiful baroque music, particularly the last one, which Manze said was Britten's favorite piece of Purcell.
After the Purcell was over the piano was wheeled out for the piano concerto. I had looked up Simone Dinnerstein a few days beforehand and wasn't quite sure what to make of her. She engaged in a lot of new age playing tendencies, but she was also very expressive. At Thursday's concert it seemed to be much the same. Her facial expressions were completely over the top from the beginning to the end of the concerto, but if I closed my eyes or looked away, the playing was quite fine. Her tone in particular was the warmest, richest, most beautiful tone I have yet heard from a pianist in Benaroya Hall. That was the key element of her playing that made it captivating.
I would say that overall I still prefer Vladimir Feltsman's performance of this work from back in May. It was overall more traditionally played. But compared to some of the flat performances of Mozart piano concerts I've heard this past year (No. 9 with Garrick Ohlsson, No. 21 with Cédric Tiberghien), Dinnerstein's was certainly up there among the best. One thing I preferred about Dinnerstein's performance was the slow tempo of the second movement. She played the opening very slowly and beautifully, and Manze brought the orchestra in in such a way that it seemed it had always been going and we were only now beginning to hear it. He also remained in the slow tempo she had set, which created an incredible effect for the unspeakably divine orchestral passages.
There was one part in the third movement I think, where I was listening with my eyes closed and suddenly I was jarred by what sounded like the piano and orchestra getting very out of sync with each other. My eyes snapped open, but they then seemed to be back together. Perhaps what I heard wasn't an actual fumbling of the performers but something that my mind did as it drifted towards a half-asleep state. Fascinating questions.
The audience didn't seem very enthralled with Dinnerstein. After her first bow and exit from the stage the applause barely sustained enough for her to return for a second bow. Half the audience was still standing up of course though, this is Seattle. She stayed on stage for her second bow for a little while, probably knowing this was it, and the applause quickly faded just as she took her last step from the stage.
After intermission Manze returned to the stage in front of a much larger orchestra, and again took the microphone to address the audience before performing the Vaughan Williams. He told a story about how while conducting this symphony recently he had met a very old woman who had been there in 1943 at the first performance of it in England. The audience oohed and aahed as he told the story. Apparently she was a sound engineer, because all the men were at war. She said that everyone was weeping during the performance because it was this beautiful, hopeful piece of music that Vaughan Williams had created in the midst of total darkness; the previous three years had been terrible for England obviously. Finally he said "enough from me!" with a gesture of his hand, and turned around to begin the symphony.
It was a very fine performance. Andrew Manze was clearly a very good musician, and he led the orchestra through a solid and convincing performance of the symphony. The brass were a little bit weak in places, something they actually suffered from throughout the first half as well I believe, but otherwise the orchestral playing was technically very good. My favorite movement is the third, the one which has the most romantic, hollywood-esque soaring string passages, and it was played very beautifully.
It's unfair to compare level of polish between tonight and most of the other concerts I go to because normally I go on Saturdays. Opening night is always not as quite put together as subsequent performances, and I think this was noticeable on Thursday. In any case it was a very enjoyable concert!
Next up is The Daughter of the Regiment at the Seattle Opera!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13609&src=t&dateid=13609
There was one part in the third movement I think, where I was listening with my eyes closed and suddenly I was jarred by what sounded like the piano and orchestra getting very out of sync with each other. My eyes snapped open, but they then seemed to be back together. Perhaps what I heard wasn't an actual fumbling of the performers but something that my mind did as it drifted towards a half-asleep state. Fascinating questions.
The audience didn't seem very enthralled with Dinnerstein. After her first bow and exit from the stage the applause barely sustained enough for her to return for a second bow. Half the audience was still standing up of course though, this is Seattle. She stayed on stage for her second bow for a little while, probably knowing this was it, and the applause quickly faded just as she took her last step from the stage.
After intermission Manze returned to the stage in front of a much larger orchestra, and again took the microphone to address the audience before performing the Vaughan Williams. He told a story about how while conducting this symphony recently he had met a very old woman who had been there in 1943 at the first performance of it in England. The audience oohed and aahed as he told the story. Apparently she was a sound engineer, because all the men were at war. She said that everyone was weeping during the performance because it was this beautiful, hopeful piece of music that Vaughan Williams had created in the midst of total darkness; the previous three years had been terrible for England obviously. Finally he said "enough from me!" with a gesture of his hand, and turned around to begin the symphony.
It was a very fine performance. Andrew Manze was clearly a very good musician, and he led the orchestra through a solid and convincing performance of the symphony. The brass were a little bit weak in places, something they actually suffered from throughout the first half as well I believe, but otherwise the orchestral playing was technically very good. My favorite movement is the third, the one which has the most romantic, hollywood-esque soaring string passages, and it was played very beautifully.
It's unfair to compare level of polish between tonight and most of the other concerts I go to because normally I go on Saturdays. Opening night is always not as quite put together as subsequent performances, and I think this was noticeable on Thursday. In any case it was a very enjoyable concert!
Next up is The Daughter of the Regiment at the Seattle Opera!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13609&src=t&dateid=13609
Sunday, October 6, 2013
October 5th, 2013: Beethoven's Triple Concerto
What a night! What a thoroughly enjoyable concert. It was so good I was tempted to go again today at 2:00!
Thomas Dausgaard was the conductor for the evening, and just a few days prior the Symphony had announced that he is to be the new Principal Guest Conductor. Dausgaard is a relatively famous Danish conductor who specializes in Scandinavian repertoire, but also has an affinity for the core Germanic repertoire. This was proven in yesterday's concert.
The first half consisted of Beethoven's Triple Concerto, with Alina Pogostkina on violin, Andreas Brantelid on cello and Christian Ihle Hadland on piano. The second half consisted of Schubert's Symphony No. 9 in C major, "The Great." I didn't realize beforehand how much I would appreciate the fact that the concert contained no nonsense music, no fillers, no contemporary castor oil, etc. Beethoven concerto in the first half, Schubert symphony in the second. Every concert should be like this!
Dausgaard and the three soloists came out to perform the Beethoven concerto, taking up an interesting staging arrangement in which Christian, the pianist, wasn't able to see either of the other two soloists. But I suppose the alternative would have put the string soloists such that the sound of the piano would overwhelm them.
I had listened to the concerto several times in preparation for this concert and had grown quite fond of it. While I had high hopes for Dausgaard as a conductor I was more skeptical about the three very young European soloists (Pogostkina was Russian, Brantelid was Swedish/Danish and Christian was Norwegian), mainly because of the risk that they would substitute musical depth for superficial acting.
Dausgaard gave the downbeat for the orchestral introduction and within a very short time proved himself to be a brilliant and competent leader, bringing out the absolute best that the Seattle Symphony has to offer. The orchestral playing was vivid and brilliant, the sound quality ever present, every inner line clearly heard. The timber of the strings even seemed to be taking on a much-appreciated gritty sound due to the intensity with which they played.
When Andreas Brantelid began the first solo of the concerto he did make a few "look at how into the music I am" faces and looked aimlessly around the hall as he tossed off the first few phrases. I feared for the worst. However, as the piece continued and the violin and piano joined him, it seemed that they were actually generally on the mature side. Alina Pogostkina, though she wore an immodest dress, played the violin very professionally. Her musical expression came across as quite authentic to me. For the most part Andreas Brantelid was also fairly authentic, though he was a bit more on the fence, occasionally straying into a manner of playing rooted in a show business mentality rather than a learned knowledge of the music. Christian Ihle Hadland, on the piano, provided technical perfection in his part and served as a solid grounding for the trio of soloists.
Dausgaard was incredible. Absolutely a pleasure to watch. It seemed whatever he touched turned to gold, vaporizing time, immortalizing the music. He was locked in with the soloists as if their brains were physically connected. He provided an orchestral accompaniment to them which was right on their heels, the entrances impeccably timed, the musical intentions crystal clear, the dynamic contrasts thrilling. There wasn't a single passage in the concerto that didn't have impeccable togetherness between all the players, and Dausgaard was clearly responsible for that. He was 150% involved in what he was doing, his face lit, his movements boisterous and inspiring, like a painter painting the music to life on an aural canvas.
Throughout the course of the forty minute concerto (which felt much shorter) the soloists proved themselves to be fine musicians. They worked as a unit, and throughout most of the piece I never had the experience that anything they were doing was interfering with my ability to hear the music. They delivered it in a mostly straight forward and unpretentious manner. By the end of the concerto I was in a really good mood. Hearing a live performance of this caliber is a real treat.
After intermission Dausgaard returned to the podium to conduct Schubert's 9th symphony. This symphony is less known than his 8th (the unfinished) and it is a very interesting work. It is quite long, and the third and fourth movements in particular drag on and on, seeming to repeat the same sections over and over. I'm not too familiar with the form, but that's what it sounds like. I sat in the first violin section of the Seattle Youth Symphony Orchestra back in the 2009/2010 season when they played this symphony, and I have a certain affinity for it.
The first movement was slightly disappointing after what we had heard in the Beethoven concerto. The orchestra had the same presence and quality of tone, but I think Dausgaard rushed the movement just a little bit. Several precious moments and transitions were rushed through, and on top of that it seemed like the orchestra disagreed with his tempo. So it didn't sound like a coherent fast tempo, it sounded pushed. I still enjoyed it very much, but wished that he had fleshed it out and presented it in the crystal clear and brilliant manner with which he had presented the Beethoven. Nevertheless, at times during the first movement I really felt the presence of Schubert's divine music. He really is as close to Bach, Mozart and Beethoven as any other composer gets.
The reduction in attention to detail compared to the Beethoven was mostly confined to the first movement. I'm not sure what the cause of it was, especially since Dausgaard was conducting without a score. I assume that means he knows it inside out, although if he doesn't, that might explain it. In any case it was a terrific performance and my quibbles with it probably only sound as serious as they do because I'm writing in the context of a perfect conducting job during the first half of the concert. The Schubert also did not feel nearly as long as it was, and the orchestra was on their toes and playing their best. They maintained the crisp string tone, glorious winds and brass, and stark dynamic contrasts. During the second movement Dausgaard's attention to detail seemed to return fully, to chilling and brilliant effect in places, and the third and fourth movements, while long and repetitive, did not seem to lack anything.
I must say that after last night's concert I am absolutely thrilled and delighted at Thomas Dausgaard's appointment as Principal Guest Conductor, and I'm already preparing for the festival of Sibelius symphonies he will conduct during the 2014/2015 season!
Next up is Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23 and Vaughan Williams' Symphony No. 5!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13649&src=t&dateid=13649
Thomas Dausgaard was the conductor for the evening, and just a few days prior the Symphony had announced that he is to be the new Principal Guest Conductor. Dausgaard is a relatively famous Danish conductor who specializes in Scandinavian repertoire, but also has an affinity for the core Germanic repertoire. This was proven in yesterday's concert.
The first half consisted of Beethoven's Triple Concerto, with Alina Pogostkina on violin, Andreas Brantelid on cello and Christian Ihle Hadland on piano. The second half consisted of Schubert's Symphony No. 9 in C major, "The Great." I didn't realize beforehand how much I would appreciate the fact that the concert contained no nonsense music, no fillers, no contemporary castor oil, etc. Beethoven concerto in the first half, Schubert symphony in the second. Every concert should be like this!
Dausgaard and the three soloists came out to perform the Beethoven concerto, taking up an interesting staging arrangement in which Christian, the pianist, wasn't able to see either of the other two soloists. But I suppose the alternative would have put the string soloists such that the sound of the piano would overwhelm them.
I had listened to the concerto several times in preparation for this concert and had grown quite fond of it. While I had high hopes for Dausgaard as a conductor I was more skeptical about the three very young European soloists (Pogostkina was Russian, Brantelid was Swedish/Danish and Christian was Norwegian), mainly because of the risk that they would substitute musical depth for superficial acting.
Dausgaard gave the downbeat for the orchestral introduction and within a very short time proved himself to be a brilliant and competent leader, bringing out the absolute best that the Seattle Symphony has to offer. The orchestral playing was vivid and brilliant, the sound quality ever present, every inner line clearly heard. The timber of the strings even seemed to be taking on a much-appreciated gritty sound due to the intensity with which they played.
When Andreas Brantelid began the first solo of the concerto he did make a few "look at how into the music I am" faces and looked aimlessly around the hall as he tossed off the first few phrases. I feared for the worst. However, as the piece continued and the violin and piano joined him, it seemed that they were actually generally on the mature side. Alina Pogostkina, though she wore an immodest dress, played the violin very professionally. Her musical expression came across as quite authentic to me. For the most part Andreas Brantelid was also fairly authentic, though he was a bit more on the fence, occasionally straying into a manner of playing rooted in a show business mentality rather than a learned knowledge of the music. Christian Ihle Hadland, on the piano, provided technical perfection in his part and served as a solid grounding for the trio of soloists.
Dausgaard was incredible. Absolutely a pleasure to watch. It seemed whatever he touched turned to gold, vaporizing time, immortalizing the music. He was locked in with the soloists as if their brains were physically connected. He provided an orchestral accompaniment to them which was right on their heels, the entrances impeccably timed, the musical intentions crystal clear, the dynamic contrasts thrilling. There wasn't a single passage in the concerto that didn't have impeccable togetherness between all the players, and Dausgaard was clearly responsible for that. He was 150% involved in what he was doing, his face lit, his movements boisterous and inspiring, like a painter painting the music to life on an aural canvas.
Throughout the course of the forty minute concerto (which felt much shorter) the soloists proved themselves to be fine musicians. They worked as a unit, and throughout most of the piece I never had the experience that anything they were doing was interfering with my ability to hear the music. They delivered it in a mostly straight forward and unpretentious manner. By the end of the concerto I was in a really good mood. Hearing a live performance of this caliber is a real treat.
After intermission Dausgaard returned to the podium to conduct Schubert's 9th symphony. This symphony is less known than his 8th (the unfinished) and it is a very interesting work. It is quite long, and the third and fourth movements in particular drag on and on, seeming to repeat the same sections over and over. I'm not too familiar with the form, but that's what it sounds like. I sat in the first violin section of the Seattle Youth Symphony Orchestra back in the 2009/2010 season when they played this symphony, and I have a certain affinity for it.
The first movement was slightly disappointing after what we had heard in the Beethoven concerto. The orchestra had the same presence and quality of tone, but I think Dausgaard rushed the movement just a little bit. Several precious moments and transitions were rushed through, and on top of that it seemed like the orchestra disagreed with his tempo. So it didn't sound like a coherent fast tempo, it sounded pushed. I still enjoyed it very much, but wished that he had fleshed it out and presented it in the crystal clear and brilliant manner with which he had presented the Beethoven. Nevertheless, at times during the first movement I really felt the presence of Schubert's divine music. He really is as close to Bach, Mozart and Beethoven as any other composer gets.
The reduction in attention to detail compared to the Beethoven was mostly confined to the first movement. I'm not sure what the cause of it was, especially since Dausgaard was conducting without a score. I assume that means he knows it inside out, although if he doesn't, that might explain it. In any case it was a terrific performance and my quibbles with it probably only sound as serious as they do because I'm writing in the context of a perfect conducting job during the first half of the concert. The Schubert also did not feel nearly as long as it was, and the orchestra was on their toes and playing their best. They maintained the crisp string tone, glorious winds and brass, and stark dynamic contrasts. During the second movement Dausgaard's attention to detail seemed to return fully, to chilling and brilliant effect in places, and the third and fourth movements, while long and repetitive, did not seem to lack anything.
I must say that after last night's concert I am absolutely thrilled and delighted at Thomas Dausgaard's appointment as Principal Guest Conductor, and I'm already preparing for the festival of Sibelius symphonies he will conduct during the 2014/2015 season!
Next up is Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23 and Vaughan Williams' Symphony No. 5!
____________________________
http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13649&src=t&dateid=13649
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